


Fire-Blind

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: The roar is the first clue Jason gets that he's about to have a really terrible day. The massive dragon dropping out of the clouds, at least twice the size of his, is the second. Most dragons can be charmed and trained, if they like you, but blacks are the most intelligent and vicious of all the variations of dragons, and they don't tend to like humans very much. Then again, if you happen to catch one's attention...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Thanks to a lovely anon for the prompt of Slade/Jason, Dragon AU. Just what I needed to get some words going. (Thank you!)
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Jason snarls as an arrow skitters past his leg, glancing off his armor but only just. A flick of his hand on the guide looped around one of the spikes on her nose turns his dragon's head in that direction, Red's jaws snapping closed around the offender and then tossing him across the battlefield with a growl much more fearsome than Jason's. He grins, slashing out with his sword to decapitate a man getting too close to Red's neck, trying to get her between where the plates of armor protect the more vulnerable parts. They really don't stand a chance, not against him and his brothers.

The _thud_ of Dick landing his dragon a stone's throw away, tail clearing a sweeping trail as he spins his dragon in a tight circle. A bit smaller than Red (he has a name, but Jason's always just called him Blue, mainly because it irritates Dick) but faster, the deadly combination of spikes and metal plate makes short work of anyone unlucky enough to get caught in the way. Dick leaps from his neck in a graceful twist a moment later, diving into the battle with a short sword in each hand. If he wasn't just as fast as his dragon, that style would have gotten him killed years ago.

Off across the battlefield he can see Tim and Damian taking care of all the heavy machinery; half of it is on fire and the other half in splintered ruins. The boats on the nearby river they've left carefully safe apart from destroying the ballista on their decks; they want these people to turn tail and run back to their homes. This land is protected by _dragons_ , and there doesn't yet exist an army with the tools to fight both them and Gotham's home force. No one else has mastered dragon riding yet; the worst they ever have to contend with are smaller, caged beasts set loose to wreak havoc. Easily turned back on their supposed masters. (You can't _tame_ dragons.)

This army is no different than the others that have tried to make overtures over the years. It's still battle, and it has its risks — they'll all go home bleeding at least a little — but he's sure of their victory.

The roar is the first clue Jason gets that he's about to have a really terrible day. It's a deep, thundering bellow of a sound, and his head snaps around the moment it reaches him. With wide eyes he watches the massive shadow emerge from the clouds above, vapor trailing off its spread wings as it dives down towards all of them. He stares upwards with stunned horror, the rest of the battle paused around him as everyone present goes still in instinctive terror.

The dragon must be older because it's enormous, easily double even Jason's dragon, and he has the largest. It's black and a dark, burnt orange; heavily spiked with a long, wicked tail and a mouthful of overlapping, sharp teeth. There's no place to ride on those shoulders, no space between the forest of spikes and the horns that curve back from its head that are as big as bulls. The only smoother places seem to be the underside of its wings, the lower part of its legs, and its belly. Even those are covered in thick black scales; there's very little hint of an underbelly like Jason's seen on most dragons.

A wild dragon. A _black_ dragon. The only person Jason's ever heard of to ride a black dragon is Bruce. They're viciously intelligent, even by dragon standards, and usually very unfriendly. Others can be charmed with time, but blacks…

What's it doing here? This is a far corner of their land, true, but there aren't supposed to be any dragons living here. Someone would have noticed a beast as large as this one. Someone would have reported it. Is it traveling? Migrating from one cave to another? This army couldn't possibly have brought it, right?

Jason's attention snaps back down when Dick yells, "Run!" loud enough to startle at least a few people into action.

Dick swings back onto his dragon as a few becomes a flood, herd mentality taking over as the army starts to turn for its ships. They'll never make it in time. The dragon is still diving, and it's at an angle so it's not coming down all that fast — not like the plummeting dives that he's seen Dick do, snapping wings out at the last few moments and soaring off with a grin — but it will only be a minute till it's on them. A dragon like that could wipe out a city or even a fortress. What it'll do to a field of armored, fleeing men…

Blue takes off at Dick's direction, wings beating hard enough to gust Jason with the wind from them as he starts to rise off the ground. The others, they're only a third of this dragon's size, if that. They can't really _face_ a creature of that size. But maybe… maybe they can irritate it into leaving. If they show that they're strong and fast enough to be a nuisance, together. It's the only chance.

Jason grits his teeth and urges Red to follow Dick into the air, his thighs clenching down tight on the saddle that's all that protects his legs from her scales, even though his feet are still partially strapped in and there's no way he falls. It's instinct, and an old habit when he's nervous. He didn't take to the sky like Dick did, with him it took… effort. Overcoming his fears and learning to trust another being to have his back when he needed them to. Now he knows; Red would never let him fall. She'll protect him as long as she's able.

(God, he hopes she's able right now.)

Red gets off the ground with a few hard beats, mouth dropping open as she screams up at the bigger dragon. Blue echoes it first, and then he hears the more distant responses from Tim and Damian's dragons. The black above them flares its wings wide, pulling out of the dive to hover there, suspended like some myth of old. Its wings beat once, like a crack of thunder, then Jason sees the orange threads light its chest up from the inside out, threading up through the minuscule cracks in the scale and spike armor and traveling quickly up its neck. Red's already spiraling off to the side before Jason even pulls at the guide to suggest it.

The beast's fire spews from its mouth in a tidal rush of red and orange death, and it turns to go after Tim and Damian with it, following them with the column of fire. The ground, far below, is scorched to black ruin. Damian is forced to dive, while Tim curves his dragon into a dizzying spiral that spins him around the outside of the flame in a dangerous circle. Jason swallows his worry and looks to Dick as Red pulls out of her own spiral. Dick lifts an arm in command, signaling with several sharp gestures, and Jason follows it even though it makes his teeth grit together.

Dick will dive, go for its underbelly where it's weakest (by far the most dangerous place to be too, with all the claws and teeth protecting it), while Jason distracts it from above however he can. He has the biggest dragon, he _is_ the best suited to draw attention to himself and be considered a threat, but he hates ever leaving Dick in danger.

A light pull at the guide tells Red what to do. She heads up, wings beating hard at the air to gain the height necessary to get above the black. It's distracted by Damian and Tim, chasing the latter with its flame, tail whipping through the air to ward off Damian from coming any closer below. Jason circles back as he gets higher, coming up behind it and getting around the heavy buffets of its wings. Those will steal the air right out from under anyone else caught in the drafts. Each beat of them is like the rumbling snap of a storm; the sound pierces his ears even past the protection of his helmet and makes him wince with each crack.

He brings Red in at its back, and she understands the strategy without him having to direct it; they've done this enough times in practice. (Even though it's not often that they actually have cause to fight another full-grown dragon.) He feels her heat through the saddle as she breathes in and then blasts fire down at the base of its neck. If it was a smoother dragon she'd land right on its back, force it down through weight and threat, but that back of spikes… Those aren't worth the potential damage; they'd go right through the softer scales on her feet.

The black's fire cuts off, but only to snap teeth at Tim's dragon instead. It barely even seems to notice Red's flame. Jason grits his teeth; Dick will come up under it any _second_ , and if it's not distracted…

He pulls at Red's guide, leaning back to thump his other hand as close to the base of her left wing as he can manage. The strut may be scaled, but the leather of its wings is a target on any dragon. Theirs wear light plate over the top that's designed to cover the entire wing when they're folded down, but a wild dragon isn't going to have that kind of protection. This will at _least_ sting.

Red draws back and blasts the black's wing with a heavy stream of fire. It roars, sounding more angered than in pain as its wing judders a bit at the next beat. And then suddenly it _turns_.

Jason only has time for a sharp gasp and a hard pull at Red's guide before the black's spun far enough back around at them that its wing smacks into Red. Jason clenches down on the saddle, bowing in to lessen the air strain, as she tumbles off to the side under the force of it. She hits its shoulder, and Jason feels himself cringe as she shrieks in pain, wings beating to try and get her off of the danger of all those spikes. She must be hurt; some of them must have gotten her when she came down.

He's at just the right angle to see the black turn its head towards them, and see that its closer right eye has a ragged scar through it, and a milky white iris. Blind. The second though, when it gets far enough, is huge and golden, and _Christ_ its teeth are as big as he is. It opens its jaws, and Jason shouts in panic when it closes its teeth on Red's wing, beating into its face. Her scream is like nothing he's ever heard before, as the black yanks her free of its spikes. Blood spatters his face, burning hot, and Jason finds himself screaming with her.

There's a sickening lurch, and then they're spinning end over end, Red's wings snapping against the momentum with frantic flaps, his hands clinging to the saddle's horn with all his might so his spine isn't snapped by being flung sideways. The earth and sky spin past, and Jason gives up on the guide completely. They're too close to the ground, there's too much damage to her wing. There's no way—

She hits legs first, the ground shaking under the weight of her impact as everything else slams down as well. Jason feels the force all through his hips and back, and the tight clench of his hands keeping him bowed down over the saddle. He hears the impact, hears the thud of it all, but there's no _crack_ as loud as a tree downed by a storm, no second scream to signal that something's broken during the crash. Somewhere in the midst of all his panic, Jason feels a sharp spike of relief. If she'd come down on top of him, or if she'd broken something else on landing…

He leans down and snaps the quick-release latches on the saddle, jumping down from her back to come around. The army hasn't gotten far enough out of the way yet. There are still people running past them, skirting his dragon and the jittering spread of her wings. None of them are coming close enough to be a danger, if any of them would be stupid enough to attack them while that _beast_ is in the air.

"Red!" he calls, running up to her head so he can circle around and get within her line of vision. She's breathing smoke, the slit pupils narrowed in classic pain reaction and her whole body shaking with each breath. He reaches out carefully, making sure she sees and recognizes him before he touches her jaw, runs a hand down her snout. "Hey, hey baby, you're gonna be okay. You hear me? We're gonna get out of here. You stay still, alright? I'm going to get a look at what that thing did to you."

She keens, leaning her head into his touch, eyelids flickering down for a moment. Jason can't help but lean back into her, hugging her snout as much as he dares to. He only pulls himself away because he has to, circling back to first get a look at the most important damage. Her wing. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.

He chances a look up at the black, and his brothers, and stops in his tracks. Damian's dragon is _in its teeth_. A whiplash shake of its head flings them towards the ground, but Jason can only track that free-fall for a moment before the fight draws his attention back. Dick is below it, going for its underbelly like he said he would, but there's no one to distract it but Tim, and Tim's dragon is the smallest of all of theirs. A dragon going for the stomach is more dangerous than a smaller one circling a wing any day. Jason sees the tail lash around, but Dick's in the wrong position, he can't—

The warning cry freezes in his throat; even if Dick could hear him he's not fast enough. Blue takes the hit to his face and chest, and Jason cringes at the scream he gives, backing off with two awkward flaps and then getting caught by the claw of a back leg. And then there's only Tim, and the black turns on him fully. He tries to run, but the beast exhales a wide spread of flame and Tim's dragon has no choice but to turn into it and take the fire against his belly and wings to avoid cooking his rider. Dragons are resistant to fire, but not immune. A blast like that will burn.

It's not quite clear whether Tim's dragon falls or takes a more controlled spiral down, but the black roars all the same at its victory over them. Then it starts to drop.

Jason watches with horror as it dives down into the battlefield, landing with an earth-shaking thud only at most a thousand feet from Red and him. Its wings shadow the ground, and there's still people there, still—

The _snap_ of its jaws isn't drowned out by the screams of the people caught beside it. It flings them through the air, then pushes up off both its front legs with a heavy beat of its wings. He sees its chest expand, those threads of orange that warn of impending fire, and then it comes down and lets it loose. People _scream,_ and even from his distance it only takes a few seconds for the smell of cooked flesh to make it to Jason's nose. He gags.

Half the battlefield is on fire. The ships are starting to push off, regardless of the people left behind, and Jason can't quite say he blames them. If the black goes for the ships they'll _burn_. Ships are only wood and cloth, and all of that burns _so_ easily.

It doesn't go for them. Instead it turns back around, towards _them_ , and Jason feels himself stiffen up as that one golden eye's gaze lands on the two of them. Red bares teeth, backing up with heavy, limping footsteps and Jason follows her, staying at her neck with one hand pressed to her scales. The growl the black gives is low and rumbling, loud enough to make him think of earthquakes, and Red freezes in place. She's trembling. It's approaching.

Reckless desperation grabs hold somewhere behind his heart, and Jason grits his teeth and moves before he has any time to think it through. He runs to the side, leaning down to grab the weapons off a dead soldier on the way. A spear, bloody but not broken, and that's good enough for him. Red jerks half a step after him, but he yells a wordless, commanding sound and slashes his arm and she stops. She's scared. God, he can relate; he's fucking terrified. But he will _not_ let this black hurt her any worse if he can help it.

He winds up, aims, and chucks the spear towards the black's head. It bounces off the scales just a few feet under its blind eye, which is honestly better than he was expecting to hit with that sort of distance. Its head recoils a bit from the impact, and then suddenly he has its attention.

"Hey!" he shouts, waving an arm and continuing to track away from Red, the farther he can draw its attention the better. "Yeah, you! Come and get me you big, ugly motherfucker!"

Blacks are viciously intelligent.

Its eyes narrow, thick, black smoke curling up out of its nostrils as its lip curls back to bare all of its teeth. The urge to run is building, but Jason's not that dumb. Run from a dragon? Might as well be a mouse trying to get away from a hawk. No burrows to dive into out here. His only possible chance starts with him not turning his back on this thing.

"Come on, you bastard," Jason mutters, waving his arm again and drawing his sword from the sheath at his waist with the other hand. The shield on his back will be worse than useless, so he doesn't even bother.

The black takes his bait. Jason stands his ground as it comes at him, his heart pounding and his eyes wide but some remembrance of training coming back to him as he faces down the approaching dragon. It's angry, or it would have just roasted him with a bit of flame. Or it's toying with him, but he'll take that too. Either way gives him more time to distract the beast and get its attention away from Red. Or anyone else. If he can get a sword in between its scales, or threaten that other eye…

It's head snaps forward, mouth open and ready to grab him between all those teeth. He leaps to the side and forward, trying to judge the distance _just_ right so— The black's mouth snaps closed right next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat from between its teeth, and he goes against every prey instinct in his body to jump forward and grab the horn at the tip of its nose. When it rears back it takes him with it, and he clings tight to that horn and scrambles his feet higher on its snout, away from the teeth and trying to aim them the same direction as the spikes so he's not skewered by them.

It shakes its head _hard_ ; he loses his sword to one dizzying wrench of motion but not his grip on the horn. Clinging to it with both arms is more secure, and some combination of panic and desperation and a deep anger makes him roar into its face in challenge. The black snarls beneath him, loud enough he can feel the rumble of it in his bones, and flips its head _up_ in a sudden jerk. His grip slips, so do his feet, and for a moment he's flung into free fall. Terror freezes his breath, and that moment feels longer than it is. The dragon below him, staring up with narrowed eyes, its mouth not far from below him and _all those spikes_.

One of his hands grabs the horn again, jerks himself back in, and he smacks back into the side of its snout. He screams as he feels one of those spikes puncture his thigh, going right through his armor and skin like it's nothing. It's a relatively narrow one, but his skin flushes cold as he tries to deal with the pain. His grip is slipping, he can't— If he falls the dragon will have him. It'll eat him alive.

A massive paw lifts, and Jason sees it coming out of the corner of his eye in time for him to make the only judgement call he has left.

He lets go and jumps.

The spike comes free from his thigh with a sickening pull, and he hits the ground hard enough to knock all the breath out of his chest. His helmet comes loose, rolling off across the ground as he tries to breathe and think of _any_ way out from underneath the black's shadow. He tries to get up, but he only makes it to his knees before his injured leg goes out from under him and he has to choke back another scream. His fingers dig into the dirt, still protected by his gauntlets, not that any of his armor will matter against dragonscale and teeth.

He feels heat wash over him, and sudden instinctive terror makes him freeze up, slowly turning his head to look up at the black. It's staring down at him, mouth nearly brushing the bottom of his legs as it breathes out over him in hot bursts of air with a heavy scent of smoke to it. Jason shifts, rolling to his back as he stares up, propped up only by his hands. And only that until the dragon moves, head staying just where it is as it steps around him, until one paw is in the right position to come forward and press down on top of him. it's big enough to cover him completely, his chest compressed by weight and heat as the claws sink into the dirt around him. There's one just next to his throat, and he can see that the edge is razor sharp even for its size. That thing could slice him open by accident as well as on purpose.

He shudders, but that same recklessness curls his mouth into a snarl, blunt teeth meeting the sharp ones aimed down at him, his hands grabbing at the side of its paw.

"Just get it over with," he spits, glaring up at it. "You think I've got all day to wait around? Kill me or eat me or whatever you're going to do but get on with it!"

It bares its teeth, lets loose a low, bone-trembling growl. He almost laughs, even though he thinks it probably would come out hysterical. What's it trying to do, intimidate him? What more is there to be afraid of than what he's already facing? For _fuck's_ sake he's already pinned under one massive paw with a useless leg and exactly no chances of survival unless some miracle happens. How exactly does it get worse from here?

" _Fuck_ you," he chooses to answer. Who knows how much human speech it understands, but his tone will get across just fine. "I hope you choke on me, you bastard."

It tilts its head, looking at him with that big golden eye more directly. And then it _laughs_. Jason stares, watching the repetitive, chuffing breaths that he's become familiar with as dragon laughter, buffeting him with hot air. He grimaces against it, feeling sort of… offended. What the hell? Why is it laughing at him? He gets that he's not a really threatening figure, but still.

The black lifts its head, and the paw on top of him lifts, only to come down at an angle and close around him. Fully around him, scraping up dirt along with his body and taking the very familiar shape of prey-in-claws. It's an emergency grab for a falling rider, or one of the only ways to carry an injured one apart from strapping them into the saddle and being very careful, but this is definitely not either of those things and if this beast _flies off with him—_

The beat of its wings is even louder up close, without his helmet, and he grimaces in pain and struggles, trying to work himself free from the grip before the black gets into the air. Its claws tighten around him before he makes any headway, and then a second beat and they're off the ground, other legs shoving into the ground to lift the massive creature into a jump that gets them the rest of the way airborne. Jason chokes, twisting his head to watch the ground drop further and further away. He gets a flash of Red on the ground, her head lifted towards them and mouth parted in some kind of sound that he can't hear past the wind from the black's wings. He shouts down to her anyway, even though he doesn't think she can hear him either.

Then they're rising up through the clouds, and Jason shudders as the wet mist of them coats the bits of him not covered by the dragon's paw. The sun is bright enough, when they break through, to make him squeeze his eyes shut and try to turn away. There's just enough room to pull in, getting his head and feet into the circle of the dragon's claws instead of having them hang off the ends, but that movement reminds him of his injured leg. He nearly sobs in pain, shuddering.

He needs… He's still bleeding. Short term plans, he needs to try and ease that. He probably can't stop it, but he can at least tie something around it to try and help slow it down. If he can get some of his armor off then he can get to the cloth under it. There's still a knife strapped to his belt; no good against dragon skin or scales, but good enough to rip cloth.

It's slow, painful work, but he does it. By the time he's cut a piece of cloth off the bottom of his tunic, and tied it tight around his thigh, he's shivering and sweating all at the same time. He doesn't know how much of that is the pain, and how much of it is the heat of the dragon's skin pressed against him, combined with the gusts of cold wind that slip in through the open sides. Either way, all he can do is lie there and shiver, the knife lying at his side.

He doesn't know how long he lies there, or how long the dragon flies, but eventually the world around him fades out.

He comes half-awake at points; remembering things like bits of a fever dream. The scrape of claws against stone. Heat on his skin, and the brush of rich, dark cloth. Something touching his face, brushing hair away from his eyes. A golden eye looking down at him, bizarrely small to his fevered mind.

And then _pain._ Heat and burning against his leg and he screams and _screams_ and knows nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! For anyone not following me on Tumblr, apologies about the lack of story last week. I got caught in the evac zones for one of the fires in CA, and ended up displaced from my home for a few days. We're back now, pets and family are safe, as is the home. My work is too, thankfully. Everything's just getting settled again and starting to get back to normal, though everyone in my area looks like some weird post-apocalypse world (lots of face masks of varying kinds to protect ourselves from remaining smoke/particulates). So, looking to get things back to normal in terms of fics and writing too. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> To follow any news like that, [you can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Jason wakes slowly, and at first he thinks the memories that come filtering back are just a particularly horrible nightmare. He's lying in a bed now, blankets warm over him — almost too warm, with the heat of a fire not far away — his head turned sideways against a soft pillow. Everything is soft. And… sort of hazy. Maybe he just slept too long. Any second Dick's going to come knocking at his door and pry him out of bed.

He shifts and blinks open his eyes, and for a confusing moment nothing makes sense. There's plain stone above his head, instead of the draping fabric that's supposed to cover the top of his four-poster bed. It's too high too, and when he turns his head there's a fire burning in a rough stone fireplace, about seven feet away. His fireplace is… not that close. Is he in someone else's room? This… doesn't look like the castle. Something… Something's wrong.

Not a dream. The _dragon_.

He pushes up, limbs feeling weak under him as he—

Yelps in _pain_ , his right thigh lighting up with fire as he tries to move it. His back arches in reaction, hands slipping out from under him to send him crashing back down on his elbows, his whole leg shaking underneath the blankets laid over him.

"Welcome back to consciousness," someone says to his left, in a low drawl.

He jerks his head over, panting and trembling just a bit but not enough to stop him from wanting to know who the hell is near him. It's not a voice he recognizes, like the room, and if he's being held in some random castle by a black dragon and a strange man, he wants to _know_. The man is sitting, apparently perfectly at ease, in a chair a few feet away from his bedside. He's big, is the first thing that catches Jason's attention. His shoulders are broad, maybe almost as big as Bruce, and the long legs stretching out from where he's sitting mark him as unusually tall too. He must be on the older side, because his hair and beard are both white, the former hanging at the back of his neck and around his ears, and the latter trimmed to neat precision. There are some faint lines to his face, but not enough to match that hair.

He stills, staring at the single golden eye looking back at him.

The man turns a page in the book he has in his hands, gaze flicking back to it. "Did the fever cook your brain, or just your tongue?"

He flushes hard, heat rising in his cheeks. "I'm not— Who are you? Where am I?"

"So you can still speak. Good." The man snaps the book shut with enough of a sound to make Jason flinch, and then hiss at the pain of that. There's a thin smile aimed at him, and he shivers under the returned attention from that golden eye. "My name is Slade. This is my portion of the home I share with the one I serve. The black dragon; you've met him. It's a long ways from your land, from what I understand."

His chest presses in on itself, tightening his throat. "How far?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"He flew two turnings of the sun," is the careless answer, "and he covers quite a bit of distance when he's moving. You've been delirious the last two days, while I cared for you. Your leg should heal without much lingering damage, but I'd be careful with it till you're in a better condition. You lost quite a bit of blood on the journey here; if you hadn't tied that cloth, you might have died. Not badly done, given the circumstances."

Jason swallows. He knows how much distance Red, or one of their other dragons can cover in just a day's time. A beast twice as large, with twice the time could cover… countries. He could be countries away, in god knows what direction. The chances of any of his brothers finding him, if any of their dragons are even in a state to fly… And oh _god. Red._ Did they get her away? Is she alright?

"Easy," Slade says, setting the book aside and standing, moving towards his bed. "Don't strain yourself, boy."

"I—” He cuts off as Slade sits down on the bed next to him, reaching out and cupping his jaw in a sure, confident movement. "Hey! What're you doing?!"

The other hand comes to his brow, brushing his hair back and pressing flat to his skin, as the hand on his jaw tilts his head up to offer a better angle. He grabs at Slade's wrist, but he must be even weaker than he feels because his tugging doesn't do anything. Slade's hands are warm against him, single golden eye intent but not actually looking him in the eye. At least not until the hand on his forehead smooths back through his hair, and Slade gives a quiet hum of satisfaction.

"You've cooled down. Looks like you're going to live after all." The hand lets go of his jaw, but only to then flatten out against his chest and push him down onto his back with very little apparent effort. "Why don't we get a look at that wound?"

He barely has time to comprehend what that means before Slade's flipping the blankets back with his free hand, and _woah_ he's not wearing anything underneath them. He gives a protesting, shocked sound and tries to shove away, but that just lights up his leg with agony and he ends up crying out, fingers clenching down on Slade's wrist and in the blanket. He shudders, gritting his teeth together as he feels Slade's other hand touch his thigh. The fingers are careful but sure, skirting the edge of the source of agony, and Jason drags his head down to look. There's a bandage over it, clean linen, and he mumbles something protesting as Slade works at loosening the knot holding it all together.

"There was a bit of infection starting to set in when you got here," Slade comments, apparently not caring about the fact that he's just lying there _naked_. Or that he's in pain. "You'd lost too much blood to treat it any way but burning the damaged flesh away; you'll scar, but it looks like we succeeded. You've fought the rest off yourself."

Horror plays in his mind, but when Slade pulls the linen away, and then peels off a folded over pad beneath it — that hurts, but he clenches his jaw harder and withstands it — it's not nearly as bad as he was imagining. The burnt skin is only maybe half the size of his palm, focused around a stitched-together wound at the center that doesn't look as big as memory tells him it had to have been. It's not half his thigh or something enormous and ugly (though he imagines the matching injury on the back of his leg must be slightly bigger, given how the spike went in).

"That's healing well. Some rest and food and you should be on your feet soon enough." Slade looks up at him, meeting his gaze with an arched eyebrow. "Do you think you can be still enough not to hurt yourself, if I let you sit up?"

The patronizing tone makes him glare, that flush rising right back up into his cheeks. "Do I get the blanket back?" he says between his teeth, holding Slade's gaze and refusing to look down to indicate what he means.

Slade's mouth curls into a small smirk. "I've been taking care of you the last two days, boy; there's not much I haven't seen already. But sure, you can have it back. Keep that leg uncovered though; may as well change the linens now that you're awake."

Jason didn't think his cheeks could burn much brighter, but they do. "Thank you," he forces out, as the hand on his chest eases up. Because it's polite, not because he thinks that Slade deserves _thanks_ for 'allowing' him not to be naked.

By the way Slade looks at him, still smirking, he must see right through the empty words. "I'll be back in just a bit; stay here and try not to pull any of those stitches out when you move, if you don't mind. You probably don't want to go through putting them in while you're actually conscious."

The warning is casual, slightly amused, but no less true for that. Slade gets off the bed and heads for the door, and Jason carefully pushes himself up to sitting. His arms are trembling, and it's a real effort to actually get up and stay up, but once he's dragged himself backward and put his back against the headboard he can rest against that. Pushing himself back definitely hurts, as he pulls his leg back a few inches, but he groans behind his teeth and does it anyway. He's not going to lay flat on his back while some strange man who apparently serves a _dragon_ sees to wounds caused by that same dragon. Not happening. He doesn't care how weak he is right now, he's not going to be vulnerable too.

Pulling the blanket on is the next step, and he carefully arranges it over his lap to cover everything important, pushing it in around the top of his thigh to try and make sure that nothing's going to show with a bit of movement. There's not much he can do about the rest of this, but he can at least not let the man get to see every inch of him. Again.

He closes his eyes and leans into the headboard for a bit, breathing down the last of the pain and trying to make the slightly dizzy weakness go away. Two days he was in that dragon's claws, and then another two here and delirious? How long has it been since he's had water? Food? There's a tight sort of vaguely nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, the tightness spreading up to the base of his throat, and he _thinks_ that's hunger. He hasn't been really hungry in a long time, not since Bruce took him in. His mouth doesn't feel bone dry, so presumably Slade gave him water at some point.

When he feels stable enough to open his eyes he does, turning his head so he can actually take a look around the room.

He's in one corner with the bed, the chair Slade was in beside it and the fireplace on the other side. There's a pretty impressive stack of wood next to it, set in a relatively shallow inset in the wall itself, the stones mostly smooth but still clearly not a master craftsman's work. The room itself is… pretty big. Bigger than Jason's room in his own home, anyway, with much higher ceilings and several thin but very long windows in one wall. At least he assumes they're windows; there's leather blinds drawn down across the walls and since he's pretty sure they're not just hiding more wall...

Thick rugs are spread across the floor, some woven and some pelts of great furred things, all in shades of black and grey. The thickest, softest looking one is in front of and beneath what looks like nothing so much as some sort of nest. There are pillows of all sizes layered together, expanding out from one corner and creating a whole organized mess that looks like maybe one of the more comfortable things he's ever seen. Those pillows are much less color-organized, though there's nothing garishly bright among them; mainly darker shades of red and orange and sometimes green or blue. There's other furniture in the room as well — a large dresser, a pair of matching sofas, a table and some chairs — but it all looks much more stiff, and less lived in.

Wait, is this… Slade's room? Has he been in Slade's bed?

The door — off at nearly the opposite end of the room, beyond the sofas — opens before he can come to any real conclusion on that, and Slade slips back inside. It falls shut behind him, and Jason watches mutely as he approaches, steps as confident as his touch was earlier. The clothes he's wearing, now that Jason's noticing things beyond immediate important, seem to be of exquisitely fine quality. He's in a white shirt of some material that clings and drapes across his arms, which are thick, muscled things, and on top of that is a finely tailored vest of what Jason thinks is probably black velvet, with emblazoned silver patterns in fine thread. His boots are thick, sturdy leather, and even his pants cling tight, made just right to fit him.

Slade circles to the side with the fire on it, and his injured leg, and sets the tray he's carrying down on the bed before sitting down as well. "Food, water, and fresh bandages. I'd suggest you save the first two till I'm done with the third."

As much as he'd like to reach for that food, Slade is probably right. It smells like… sausage, maybe? Some kind of cooked meat, though he can't see it beneath the cover sitting on top of the plate. He's hungry, he wants it, but he doesn't want to spit it across the room because Slade suddenly ties a knot or cleans out the wound. He can wait a few minutes.

That's probably a good idea, because it ends up being fairly painful. Slade, with careful, methodical movements, washes out both sides of the wound from a bowl of pretty hot water. Drying it off is its own special hell, and then the fresh pads of linen go on either side, and Slade begins to wrap the outside cloth back on. He maybe groans pretty loudly through some of it, but he digs his fingers into the sheet beneath him and weathers it without once trying to strike at Slade or asking him to stop.

He's sweating by the time Slade finishes, arms trembling and his breath coming in strained, short inhalations. It startles him when Slade pulls the blanket over his leg, and then up underneath his arms as well, tucking it in around the corners with practiced movements.

"Easy, boy," Slade murmurs, fingers stroking back through his hair. "You think you can hold the food, or should I help?"

There's a not insignificant part of him that instantly rebels against the idea of getting fed like some child, but when he forces his head up and lifts a hand he can barely keep it up. Even the moments that he can, it's shaking so badly… He gives a frustrated groan, tipping his head back against the headboard.

Slade shifts closer and sits down just next to him, his back also to the headboard and the tray being carefully balanced on a bent knee. An arm slides in underneath Jason's back and pulls him to lean slightly sideways, up against Slade's shoulder instead of just against the headboard. He grumbles a protest, but Slade's arm is as strong as every other grip he's had and apart from a weak push that doesn't accomplish anything Jason can't quite find the determination to resist.

"Relax," Slade orders, voice quiet but still hard enough that he doesn't take it as a suggestion. “I promise to think no less of you for needing help, just today.”

Somehow the promise makes him feel better, even though the tone it’s said in is amused and just a little mocking. He hesitates for a moment longer, then gives a small nod in acquiescence. Slade responds with a small, satisfied hum.

The first bite makes his mouth water, savory, spiced flavor (deer, he thinks) exploding over his tongue, and he can’t help the quiet moan it wrenches from his throat. Slade chuckles, and feeds him another bite. There’s no comment made of his enjoyment, and he’s sort of thankful for that because he’s not sure that he could stand getting mocked for eating, on top of needing help with it.

He feels ravenous, but it’s still only Slade’s murmur of, “Come on, just a few more bites,” that gets him through the last bit of the meal. His eyelids are drooping, his weight resting heavily against Slade’s chest. “And some of this,” is the next order, and he pries his eyes open to see a cup of water being held up to him.

That’s a bit trickier than the food, but they manage it with only a few escaped drops, and a pass of Slade’s thumb over his jaw wipes those away. Then the tray is being set aside, and Slade moves to lean over him, free arm sliding in beneath the blanket and under his knees.

“Brace yourself,” Slade says, giving him a moment to understand that before he’s lifted, which is probably the only thing that stops him from crying out again.

He grits his teeth and clings to the front of Slade’s vest with one hand as he’s repositioned, slid down to rest on his back again. It only lasts a couple moments, but he still ends up gasping, his head hanging back against the pillows as Slade sets him down again. The blanket is pulled out from underneath his arms, his grip carefully detached before it pulls up over him, right up to his neck. Fingers slide back into his hair, stroking across his scalp with warm, firm movements. It feels good; helps chase away the pain as he gets his breath back, shivering faintly even under the blanket.

“Get some rest, boy,” Slade murmurs, tucking the blanket in more securely with his free hand. “Still cold?”

“I—” He shakes his head, but what actually comes out of his mouth is a weak, “I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

Slade slips away from him, and Jason almost protests that absence but he bites down on it. Just because he’s feeling weak doesn’t mean he needs to cling to the nearest available person. He’s handled being sick and alone before, he can do it again. It starts with figuring out his own needs and addressing them. _Is_ he actually cold? Or is that just the pain? Remnants of the fever?

“Here, boy,” Slade’s voice suddenly says, from his opposite side.

There’s a shift of weight on the bed, and then a moment later there’s a thick, heavy fur settling on top of him. Long fur, scattered grey and white. A… wolf, maybe? By the size? Whatever it is it’s enough to ease the shivering from his bones almost instantly, and he sighs and relaxes into it, his eyelids flickering. The fingers return to his hair, and then his head’s being pulled slightly to the side to press against a fabric that’s crisp and warm against his cheek. He pulls his eyes open to look, and it’s Slade’s hip that he’s resting against, the other man sitting up against the headboard beside him with that book back in hand.

“I told you to get some rest, didn’t I, boy?” Slade comments, looking down with one raised eyebrow. “Get some sleep; I’ll watch over you.”

This… isn’t as bad as he feels like it should be. Actually, it feels safe. Comfortable. He’s really not sure why.

“Jason,” he murmurs, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Hm?”

“My name’s not ‘boy,’ “ he presses, tilting his head back to look up at Slade. “It’s _Jason_.”

Slade gives a small smile. “Jason. Alright. Then get some sleep, _Jason_.”

Even if he wanted to argue, he's too tired to try. His eyes slip closed, and his mind follows his vision into the black quickly enough.

* * *

It's three full days before Slade even lets him try getting out of the bed, and somehow the man is there every moment to make sure that he never tries to cheat. Jason sleeps a lot in the inactivity, manages to feed himself — thankfully — and protests but ultimately submits to help when he needs to… go. Slade at least looks away and offers only the strength of an arm supporting his waist, not that it helps with the humiliation of the whole thing. There's not much in the way of conversation, though Slade does lend him the book he's working through for a couple of hours when he's painfully bored and fidgety.

On the fifth morning, there's a walking staff next to him when he wakes up. Though he uses that term very loosely. Smooth, polished wood inlaid with what he thinks is _gold_. Yeah, a walking stick for a king, maybe. He's kind of hesitant to touch it (is this what he's supposed to actually use to get around?) but a few mocking words from Slade get him to reconsider.

"It doesn't have teeth, you know."

He glares back at Slade's quiet amusement, and grabs the staff out of spite. It's only once he's started to pull back the blanket, and carefully maneuvered his leg over the edge, which hurts a lot less than it did a couple days ago, that he realizes that he's still naked. Even if he makes it to standing on his own, he'll be flashing Slade just about everything, and if he _can't_ … Yeah, he doesn't think he's alright with Slade holding him up skin to skin.

He curls his fingers a bit tighter around the staff, hesitating a moment before he turns his head to look back at Slade. "Could I get my clothes back?"

Slade stands from his chair with easy grace, back straight and head held high; honestly Jason's never seen anyone but actual royalty walk with the same sort of regal authority that Slade does. "Your clothes were ruined," Slade says, calm and matter of fact, "but I have some things that will do well enough for now. Stay."

"I'm not a dog," he complains, but Slade's already turned away and headed towards the dresser, so the words bounce harmlessly off his back. "What do you mean 'things'?"

He doesn't get an answer. Slade opens the dresser, looking into it with a critical expression for a moment before reaching in. The rustle of cloth makes Jason think that he's paging through several choices, but what comes out is something in a dark red fabric that's immediately draped over Slade's other arm. It's long, whatever it is, and he squints at it as Slade shuts the dresser again and approaches him again. When Slade shakes the thing out it turns out to be a large robe, clearly made for someone bigger than he is.

Slade slings the robe back around his shoulders before he can even really get a look at it, and he shivers at the touch of it sliding against his skin, his eyes widening slightly. It's smooth, clinging lightly to his skin the way he's only felt once or twice before, and never on his own clothing.

"Is this silk?" he asks, his voice coming out a bit awestruck. His free hand lifts, running fingers across the fabric, tracing the sewn lines of it. It's a deep, rich red, the stitching almost invisible it's so precise, and there are subtle patterns woven into the bottom of the sleeves when he reaches them. He almost snorts when he tilts the fabric the right way to catch the light and can see what they are. Flames. It's flames, in a thread just slightly lighter than the fabric itself.

"Yes." Slade's hands adjust the collar of it at his neck, pulling it a bit further onto his shoulders and then leaning back to look at him. There's approval in his gaze, as it follows the line of Jason's shoulder, then his neck. "It suits you. Good."

It hits him then that he has a _silk_ robe draped over his shoulders and panic flares to life in his chest even as Slade smiles at him, fingers tracing over the hem beside his throat. "Wait, this isn't— I'm not some noble-born. Silk's too expensive for me to just be wearing around and I haven't— _Fuck_ , I haven't even bathed in like a week and—”

Slade's hands comes up and grip either side of his head, holding him still and silent for a moment before one thumb strokes the edge of his cheek. "None of that matters," Slade says, and _god_ , he says it like it really doesn't. Like the fact that Jason's got seven days of sweat sitting on his skin is no big deal when he's got a piece of master craftsmanship probably worth more than his entire set of armor around his shoulders.

"It matters to _me_ ," he manages to get out, his throat feeling tight and panicky.

Slade just watches him, gaze calm and unaffected by his fear. The fingers holding his head loosen, sliding back into his hair and pushing him to tilt his head further back, till he's meeting Slade's gaze more directly. "Why do you think you're here, Jason?"

The only honest answer he can give is a quiet, "I don't know." His hands are trembling. Silk on his back and gold in his hand and he is _not_ worth those kind of riches. Give him plain wood and linen, like anyone else, like he's always done. He'll dress up for special occasions, wear his country's crest proudly on whatever fabric they've tailored for him to wear, but that's a _uniform_. That's different, that's— He can't just wear this thing around like it's nothing. It'll get dirty, he'll damage it.

"Everything here," Slade says, voice low and maybe the softest Jason's heard from him yet, "is of the finest quality. Whether it was bought, or traded for…” One of Slade's hands traces knuckles down his throat, and his mouth curls into a slow smirk. "Or taken."

Jason blinks. It takes a painfully long time for those connections to come together in his head. " _Me?_ " he asks, stunned. Disbelieving. "No, I'm not— I'm not anything special."

Slade chuckles, still holding his head and his gaze. "Aren't you? I was told that you had more spirit in you than most dragons. You must have done something very interesting to get his attention like that."

"Wait, you can _communicate_ with it?"

"Him," Slade corrects, "not it. And yes, in a fashion. You know how intelligent black dragons are, don't you, Jason?" He gives a small nod. "He understands our language, and I've been with him a long time. I understand him."

Jason swallows, remembering with a kind of horror how he'd yelled at the dragon when it— _he_ landed. "So… he understood me calling him a 'big, ugly motherfucker' then?"

Slade's smirk curls wider. "Oh yes."

He squeezes his eyes shut. " _Fuck_." How is he not dead? How did he manage to shout insults at a dragon that could _understand him_ and not end up a crisped skeleton? "How…? Why am I _alive?_ "

"Haven't you been listening?" Jason opens his eyes to look up, and Slade's hand leaves his hair so both can pull the silk robe down over his shoulders, fingers warm where they brush his skin. "He collects what he enjoys. Things that are beautiful, unique, or to his taste. You, Jason, fit all three of those descriptions."

He says it like it’s a fact, and all Jason can do is stare. He— “That’s not me,” he argues, quietly. “I don’t know what he thinks he sees but it’s not there. I’m not— not _beautiful;_ no one’s ever called me that.” He’s just a slum kid that happened to pass all the right tests; he’s the rags to riches story of the kingdom and everyone’s always known that.

Slade makes an unimpressed sound. “Your own opinion of yourself is largely unimportant.”

Jason sputters, pulling back and glaring. “Unimportant?! What the fuck gives you the right to say that?”

“One working eye and an appreciation for beauty in all forms,” is Slade’s quick, dry response. He raises an eyebrow, shifting back to straighten up and look him up and down with a short, assessing gaze. “The self-deprecation isn’t a particularly attractive quality, but there’s not much wrong with you, physically. No painful asymmetry, no disfigurements. I suppose you wouldn’t fit a classic human interpretation of ‘beautiful.’ ‘Handsome’ is probably the more likely word, given that your good looks are more masculine in nature.”

“You’re wrong,” Jason manages, but his voice sounds weak even to his own ears.

Slade’s smile is a wicked thing; the quiet laugh genuinely amused. “I’m not sure I’ve met someone so resistant to being called handsome before. What would convince you, Jason? Sworn statements?”

He flushes, looking away. “Don’t make fun of me.”

He can see Slade step closer, but refuses to look at him. Even when he touches the side of his face, sliding warm fingers back to cup his skull. “Would this?”

It doesn't fully register that Slade is still moving closer until fingers tilt his jaw up and lips brush his. He inhales sharply, and somehow that's invitation for the hand at the back of his skull to curl into his hair and tilt his head back. Slade's mouth is nearly hot against his, other hand sliding a possessive thumb over his jaw, fingers at his neck. Jason's hands fly up, grabbing at Slade's shirt — a dark red this time that almost matches the robe he's been given, beneath a solid black vest — and freezing up. He's— Slade's _kissing_ him.

It takes a couple moments for him to actually manage to respond, but when his brain starts again he shoves at Slade's chest and makes a protesting sound into the kiss. There's enough time for a tongue to flick against his bottom lip before the shove actually shifts Slade back a bit. Far enough to break the kiss and for Jason to open his eyes, staring up in shock. His cheeks are _blazing,_ as hot as the lingering warmth in his lips from— from—

"What the _fuck?_ " he repeats, this time out loud.

Slade is smiling, fingers lingering in his hair and against his neck, his face still all too close. "I thought it was really rather self-explanatory," is the murmured answer.

Jason can't help the flicker of his gaze to Slade's mouth, or how his fingers curl tight in Slade's shirt (also silk, does he own anything _else?_ ). "You can't just— just _do_ that without asking or warning or anything, you _ass_." That's about where his brain catches up again, and he actually shoves at Slade's chest again, pushing him back another couple inches. "What the _hell?_ "

Slade chuckles, giving underneath his push and pulling away, hands sliding away from his head but not without one last flick to the bottom of his chin to raise it. "You needed a bit of help with the idea that you're handsome, didn't you? I thought that might do."

"What, because you kissed me?" he asks incredulously. "Are you kidding me? You kiss me to prove you're _right?_ "

"And because I wanted to." He flinches back when Slade leans down again, but the hands only take one of his wrists and push it into the sleeve of the robe draped over his shoulders. He doesn't have the words to protest. "You'll find that there's not much I do that I don't want to, Jason, and kissing you? I would gladly do again."

His other arm is pushed into the robe, and Slade draws it closed around his chest, deftly finding and tying the cloth around his waist before he can really react to the words. His arm is taken in one sure hand, and the staff pressed into his palm with the other. He stares at it, trying to process that Slade... would kiss him again. _Wanted_ to kiss him. He— It had never even crossed his mind to think about that sort of path. But… _Christ,_ he doesn't know.

"Now," Slade begins, and Jason snaps his gaze up, "are you done thinking you're not good enough? Because I believe you're the one that wanted to leave the bed to begin with, and if you're not going to attempt it I have other things I could be doing."

That stabilizes him. Arrogant, amused, dismissive Slade he can deal with. He scowls a bit, taking the staff in both hands and pushing the end into Slade's stomach to get him to back up a few steps out from between his legs. He does, albeit with a smirk and a moment of pause that makes it clear it's his choice. His teeth set together as he braces the end of the staff against the ground, bracing for the pain that he knows is about to hit.

He almost topples over as he pushes up, as he over-balances with his other leg and misjudges the weight. His eyes go wide, his breath coming in a sharp inhalation, but then suddenly Slade is there. Big, steady hands catch him at his bicep and the small of his back, his shoulder being stopped by Slade's chest for a moment before he's carefully eased back up to a stable angle. It _does_ hurt, a lot, but he clenches his hands around the staff and bares his teeth, refusing to sink back down to the bed and give up. No. He's _going_ to win this.

"Careful," Slade says, hand lingering on the small of his back but the one at his bicep letting go. "One step at a time."

"I was planning on trying to sprint," Jason snarks, and Slade laughs.

It warms his voice when he says, "Since you're so concerned with it, why don't we try to get you to the baths? It's not that far."

Jason's pretty sure that 'far' is relative, but he breathes out and straightens up a bit, putting the lingering confusion about the kiss out of his head. "Alright, let's do it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! (This is a day late in posting, I know; work is exhausting and I forgot. Whoops!) Enjoy!

Walking is difficult, but it gives him a freedom that he craves. Slade stays close by his side at first, hand an almost constant presence against his low back, and he's grateful for it. Without that attentiveness he knows he would have taken a couple falls, and who knows how badly he might have hurt himself. Slade's strong and tall though, and doesn't ever seem to have any problems with catching him. Or letting him just rest in that grip, against Slade's chest, until he's ready to keep moving.

The baths end up being a collection of natural springs, and though Slade doesn't let him actually get in one because of his leg he does let him rest his feet in the hot water of one while he washes off from a bucket. It's not quite a real bath, but it's good enough that he doesn't feel entirely grungy anymore. That doesn't make it any easier to slip back into the robe, or to keep wearing the robes — a different one each day since; is the whole dresser just _full_ of them? — as he heals, since the idea of trying to get into pants is... painful sounding.

But if he doesn't put the robe on himself then Slade does it manually, often with a knowing look and an arched eyebrow, and then Jason thinks about the _kiss_ , and— Honestly, he's sort of having a hard time not thinking about the kiss. Not even the distraction of being able to actually move around and explore, albeit slowly and painfully, is stopping him from thinking about the press of hot lips and strong fingers curled in his hair. Though maybe that's because every time he turns around Slade is there, escorting him in case he falls or just co-existing in the space around him. It's not exactly helpful in trying to forget about it.

He's _pretty_ sure he liked it, is the thing. He was too stunned to really process, but apart from being surprised... Well, he doesn't have all that much experience to draw on to compare, but it seemed… smoother than he remembers his other kisses being. Less awkward.

At least Slade hasn't tried to do it again; Jason really doesn't know how he'd react.

Slade still unnerves him a bit, sometimes. When he suddenly turns and there's that golden eye looking at him and suddenly he's remembering fire and pain and huge black wings. It usually leaves him staring, eyes wide and his breath coming short for a bit until the world filters back in. Distractions aren't in short supply with the whole relearning-how-to-walk thing and a whole new room and chests and furniture to explore, so it's rare that he thinks about it for longer than that moment, but it starts to linger in his mind.

He finally asks maybe… another week in, if he's counting his days right. It's easier to walk now, he's gotten good with the staff, and the linens on his leg don't need changing nearly as frequently. Slade still follows him around, but it's more idle now, less obviously in case he topples over. He's bizarrely appreciative of the company, even though he'd maybe like a bit more time to himself than he's getting. That is, none. Presumably Slade sleeps at some point, but it must be in shorter spans than he does because he never quite catches it happening.

It just suddenly occurs to him to ask, and he turns to look up at Slade from where he's sitting on one of the furs on the floor, back against the bed and breakfast sitting on a plate next to him. Slade has retreated to his preferred chair, feet up on the bed and crossed at the ankle, his own plate in his hand.

"So the dragon," he starts, and Slade makes an acknowledging noise and looks up from his plate. He chews on how to phrase it for a couple seconds, before ending up on a sort of sideways approach. "He has the same eyes as you. Well… eye, I guess."

"Yes," Slade agrees, unconcerned. When Jason keeps watching him, frowning a little, he asks, "Are you trying to ask if there's some reason for that?"

He nods. Slade gives a thin smile.

"It's why I'm here. It was chance we ran into each other, but when he saw the similarity he decided to take me, much as he took you. I suppose he saw a sort of… kindred spirit, if that's what you want to call it." Slade looks back down to his plate, spearing a sausage with his fork and taking a bite. He chews and swallows, taking his time, before he adds on, "It isn't true here; but the color of my eye is more common in the land I'm from. So you're aware."

"Oh." That's... more mundane than he was expecting, really. Jason's not sure what exactly it was that he was expecting, but it wasn't just… coincidence. Hm. "Does he have a name?" he asks next, reaching for some thread to continue the conversation.

Slade inclines his head with a smirk and a, "Yes, but he doesn't feel like sharing it with you yet."

Jason scowls a bit, but it's not like he can do much of anything to change a dragon's mind so he lets that go. "Where is he?"

The simple answer of, "Out," surprises Jason.

"He's _gone_ , and you've been just keeping me here?" he demands, reaching for the staff to push his way to standing. "I could leave! If he's not here—”

Slade gets to his feet slower, following him at an idly curious pace as he heads for the dresser. "And go where, Jason? Back to your home?"

"Yeah, to _start_ with." He just needs something warmer, a little sturdier. There must be food in this place somewhere too because Slade keeps bringing it; provisions shouldn't be hard. A hand curls around his arm before he opens the dresser, pulling him back a half step. "Slade, let go. What are you doing?"

"Come look at this," is the only answer he gets. But it's not like injured, staff-dependent him is going to be able to fight an order from Slade, so he grumbles wordlessly but does follow the insistent tug.

Slade leads him to the windows, one of the things he hasn't quite looked at yet. They've been closed and the room's always been warm, so he's had no need to want to adjust the temperature. Slade lets go of his arm to undo the ties at the bottom that hold the thick leather in place over the window. Jason watches, shivering at the rush of cold air that comes in. The leather hooks in on itself, sitting halfway up the window, and yes, they are the narrow slats that Jason imagined. Too small to fit a leg through, let alone actually climb out; there to let the light and air in but not much else.

Slade holds a hand out to him, and Jason takes it with his free hand and lets Slade help him closer, until he can look out. The air's cold, but Slade steps closer against his back and he's warm enough that Jason presses back against it without thinking. He can see what looks like a whole land outside, green and lush and utterly tiny. Is this… a mountain? He leans a bit forward to get a better look; he can see bits of white right at the bottom, but if that's all he can get from this angle this must be… steep.

Hands grip his shoulders, and Slade speaks close to his ear. "There's a way down. A staircase, on the side of the mountain. It's rough, and about half of it is covered in snow and bits of ice. It's possible, but it's very difficult; humans were an afterthought when this place was built." Slade urges him forward another couple steps, right up against the window. One hand points down past him. "There, see it?"

It's distant, but yeah, he can see it. 'Stairs' is probably a polite term. "Yes."

"Until you're healed, you're not getting down those. You'll break your neck before you've made it more than a hundred feet." The hand returns to his shoulder, and both of them squeeze almost reassuringly. "You can't leave yet, Jason. There's no point in thinking about it; come sit down and finish your food."

Jason understands that, he can see it with his own eyes, but he can’t help thinking that there must be _some_ way. Some easier path, or some way that he can make it down those stairs without killing himself. Even if it means inch by inch, even if it takes closer to days than hours. Right?

Slowly, reluctantly, he lets himself be pulled away. Slade supports him with an arm around his waist, even though he doesn’t really need it, and guides him back to the bed. He chooses to sit on the edge of it and stare towards the window, until Slade crosses the room and reaches up to secure the blind back down over it. He’s looked back at, and when Slade comes back he comes to him instead of the chair, reaching in to take his face in both hands. It’s familiar enough now that Jason just lets it happen, tilting his head up on cue.

Slade just looks at him for several long moments, and then leans in. Jason's heart skips a beat as he inhales, but Slade's lips land on his temple instead of his mouth, breath warm against his skin. There's a moment of pause, and then Slade is straightening back up, one hand leaving his face but the other lingering to keep his head angled up.

A thumb brushes across his cheek, as Slade watches him and then finally speaks. "I'm planning on heading down to the closest city, once he's back. If there's anything I can bring back to make you more comfortable here, I'd be happy to. All you have to do is ask; wealth is no issue, as I'm sure you've noticed."

“You’re leaving?” he echoes, and he can’t quite help the little seize of panic that squeezes tight somewhere back behind his heart. If Slade _leaves_ then he’s alone with the dragon, stuck with no defense and no barrier between him and the beast that took him from everything he knows. Put a spike through his leg. _Hurt_ Red.

“Only for a few days,” is the answer he gets, but the way Slade is looking at him seems to see right through him to that panic. “A day to get down the mountain, two to get to the city and back, and another two to get back up. Perhaps less time, if the conditions are favorable. I’ll show you the rest of this place before I go; there’s plenty to keep you occupied till I return, and unless you try something foolish he’s not going to hurt you. He’s not what you think.”

Jason pulls back, but Slade’s hand follows and keeps its loose grip on his cheek. “He came down out of the sky and nearly killed us all,” Jason points out, his voice tight with the anger clawing up his throat. “Roasted half an army. Hurt my _dragon_. He’s exactly what I think he is.” Jason’s thought about it, worried, but he hasn’t actually said it out loud until, “I— I don’t even know if my brothers or their dragons are still alive,” slips out. “If— If Red’s still alive.”

His gaze falls, his head turning away from Slade’s palm as he draws in on himself, pulling the staff into his side. The weight of the wood helps just a little.

Slade shifts in front of him, fingers falling away from his face as he kneels down. “Jason, they’re alive. I can promise that.”

“No you can’t.” Fingers grab his wrist, squeezing hard enough to make him hiss and jerk his head back around. “Slade!”

The fingers ease, but only enough that it doesn’t hurt. Slade stands, slow, holding his gaze with the focus of that single eye, the intensity. “They’re alive because if he had wanted any of you dead, you’d be dead.” The flat certainty of it nearly makes him shudder. “From what I heard, your group attacked him, not the other way around. He didn’t hurt any of you until one of you—” a sharp look, a pointed squeeze to his captured wrist “—blasted his wing with fire.”

“No, we didn’t—” Jason stares, trying to think, trying to—

Did they? Bringing all four dragons into the air, screaming like they did… That’s a blatantly aggressive move, definitely. But the way it was diving could have not been. Dives aren’t necessarily aggressive, depending on what other body language goes with them. A black dragon of that size, with that sort of look… They’d assumed it was aggressive just because it was there; why else would a dragon dive down among others, in the middle of a battlefield? It blasted fire at them first, yes, but the speed that it took them out after Jason hit it… Fire is more of a defensive move than an aggressive one, when being approached. A lethal version (to humans, anyway) of ‘fuck off.’

“Then why didn’t it just leave?” he asks, focusing on Slade again. “Why was it there at all?”

“Traveling. He was curious about you all; he hadn’t met ridden dragons before.” Slade releases his wrist with a flick of his hand, one eyebrow raised. “And if someone hit you, Jason, would you walk away, or hit them back?”

Did he really cause the death of all those people?

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, gripping the staff tighter as he brings his freed hand back in against his stomach. “He told you all that?” It’s the only thing he can think to ask that doesn’t focus on the _slaughter_ of that army. They’d meant to drive it away, yes, but not to kill that many of them. Not to burn them all alive.

“Some. The rest I can say from experience with his actions.” Slade must see how miserable the thought makes him feel, how it turns his stomach in tight swirls to think about what he might have caused with his own ignorance and assumptions, because a hand touches his hair, smoothing it back and then coming forward to touch his cheek. "Come on, boy," Slade says, quiet and not unkind. "It wasn't your decision, was it? Attacking him?"

"No," Jason admits, not wanting to open his eyes yet, "but I agreed with it. I did it."

"I imagine you were frightened. It's admirable enough that your reaction is to fight, same as you did when he came down to you."

That gets him to open his eyes, and look up at Slade. The expression on his face is smooth, lacking the slightly judgmental tint of his earlier accusation, but no less intense for it. Slade never is. "Came down to me?" are the words that come out of his mouth. "Yeah, came _at_ me. At Red. I couldn't let him hurt her any more than he had. I had to—” He gestures vaguely with his hand, not sure how to describe the desperate need that was driving him. "Stop him. Distract him. I thought it was going to get me killed, I didn't— didn't think any of _this_ would happen."

"You sacrificed yourself to save your dragon," Slade summarizes, some note of approval in his voice. "You must have been scared."

Jason gives a huff of laughter. "Terrified out of my fucking mind."

Slade's mouth curls into a smile. "And yet, you faced him down." One hand lifts, touching his chin and tilting it up as Slade shifts down to sit on the bed beside him. Close enough their shoulders brush, and Jason can't do anything but stare. "I think you'll do it again."

"Last time I did it I got a spike through my leg," he points out. His voice comes out quiet, but Slade's smile only curls a bit wider.

"Maybe don't jump on his head this time. That might help prevent that. I'm pretty sure the intention was to get you off his nose, not to impale you." Slade brushes his jaw with one thumb and then lets his hand drop away. "Now come on; finish your breakfast, and then I can show you some of the rest of this place, hm? You're healing well, but this place is large and there's lots to see. If we want to cover most of it before he returns, we should start soon."

"Because I'm slow?" He doesn't really want an answer, so he speaks before Slade can to ask, "When's he going to be back?"

A small shrug as Slade stands. "Two turns of the sun, perhaps. I'll pack and leave the morning after next; if he's not back by then, it shouldn't be long after." He nods towards the plate, still on the ground just a couple feet from where Jason's right foot is, and he nods back and reaches for it as Slade turns and heads for the dresser. "You'll need something more substantial than that robe. How's the pain?"

"Manageable," he answers truthfully enough. "Walking's getting easier, but any kind of pressure's still pretty bad." Even though he really wants pants back. If the pants Slade has for him are anything like the pants Slade wears himself — tight, form-fitting fabric — he's not sure he can do that.

"We'll make do then."

Slade pulls some things from lower drawers, then heads back to him with both a small pile of fabric and a rather large fur coat that looks like it might have been made from a bear. Just, the whole thing. He's pretty sure it was made for Slade himself because the thing looks big enough to touch the ground even with the height Jason knows he has. He stares as Slade lays the clothes out, and then stalls and stares a little harder.

"Seriously? That's not—”

"Not going to put any pressure on your wound," Slade finishes, dry and unimpressed as he picks up the heavy-looking black velvet skirt. _Skirt_. "And it's not much different than a robe, functionally. I suppose I have to promise that I'll think no less of you for wearing it, given that you're a young, prideful man."

"It's a _skirt_ ," he stresses, even as he flushes. "Slade, I'm not—”

"It's a piece of cloth," is the answer, and it's even drier than his original words. "I'm fully aware you have a penis, Jason." Jason chokes on his inhalation, and Slade smirks. "I'm sure you'll survive wearing something traditionally feminine for a few days. Rest assured I'm not going to forget that you're male."

Jason's pretty sure that he can still blush even more intensely, but he's also pretty sure he wouldn't have known that before coming here. "You're a total asshole," he points out, and Slade chuckles.

"Perhaps. Eat your food."

* * *

He does wear the skirt, even though he doesn't like the idea of it. He wears the coat too, even though he initially complains to Slade that it's massive and hot and the whole place is really too warm for it. For that, he gets the reminder that this place, this... fortress on the mountain, is _big_ , and though it's warm in the contained area here, the larger spaces aren't as accommodating. Once he's actually out there, he agrees.

The place is… huge. There's a door at the end of the small section that Slade's shown him, containing the room they've been in and the baths, that leads out into what he thinks for a moment is some sort of entrance hall. Until he realizes that it's just a corridor. A _massive_ corridor, built out of what must be the stone of the mountain itself, with a high ceiling and enough width to probably fit the beast of a black that brought him here. Slade's brought a torch, but the light of it only barely reaches the ceiling, and doesn't illuminate far enough along the corridor for him to see either end. The scale of it is frightening all on its own.

He's glad for the coat, it lets him hide how his hands tremble a bit.

Slade leads him to the left first, which turns out to only contain a massive, sectioned storeroom. Food, barrels of what he thinks must be some seriously old liquor, and so on. Slade explains to him then that this area is in the corner of the constructed place, and what they've been staying in is actually the attendant's quarters, the only section not built to accommodate a dragon.

"The fortress itself was built for dragon riders," he continues, voice echoing slightly as they head back down the corridor. "But the country it belonged to never mastered how to create them. It had only a few over the ages, and those rarely survived long. They never quite understood how to create a bond, and controlling dragons never works the way men intend it to. When the black found it, he claimed it. It was empty after all, and suited his needs well enough."

"I've never heard of any country but mine having riders," Jason comments, watching the ground for any uneven stone. There hasn't been any so far, but his leg is already starting to ache and if he steps wrong… Well, Slade will catch him, but that's not the point.

"This was a long time ago. Long before even your grandparents were ever born."

He blinks, pausing a second to look up at Slade as he asks, "Then how do you know about it?" He absolutely doesn't do it for the rest.

Slade smiles, free hand still resting on the back of his shoulder, though he can barely feel the weight through the thickness of the coat. "History tomes. I appreciate knowledge; I collect it where I can."

"What, like a hoard?" The comparison's out of his mouth before he can think about it, and he winces just a bit.

Slade only laughs. "I suppose. I know a great deal about a great many subjects; history is only one of those." There's a glance down at his legs, at his grip on the staff. "Are you alright to continue? We can return to the room, if you prefer."

"I'm fine." It's rushed, and he's pretty sure it doesn't convince Slade, but he holds the one-eyed gaze and presses his lips together, and it seems to do the trick well enough.

"Very well. Shall we then?"

Now that he’s said it, he doesn’t really have any choice but to continue. Especially not under the somewhat knowing, amused gaze that Slade keeps trained on him. There’s not much that motivates him better than someone else thinking that he can’t do whatever he’s trying to. That was practically the whole secret of how he made it through all the tests and work to be a rider. Pretty much no one ever believed that he was really going to make it. Not surprising, considering their two other riders were Bruce and _Dick_. He didn’t exactly fit into that image.

It hurts, but he breathes aside the pain and pushes to keep going. No different than when he broke his arm the first time he fell out of the sky.

The other side of the corridor lets out into a hall at least four times the size of any room Jason’s ever seen, the corridor behind him and the quarters he shared with Red back home included. It’s _massive_. The ceiling is nothing more than shadowed darkness, and he can only barely see the opposite wall with the light from Slade’s torch. All stone, smooth and he can only _imagine_ how much work this all must have taken.

He startles when Slade’s arm comes to rest around his shoulders, bringing him a little closer in and gently turning him towards the left. “This way.” Slade continues to speak as they move. “This is the entrance hall. There are windows carved into the front that normally light this place, but they’re covered by the same blinds as the room you’ve been in, for your comfort.”

“Not yours?” It occurs to him, for the first time, that Slade didn’t take one of the coats from that dresser. He can feel the chill on his exposed fingers, and his nose, and facing it without any of the fur…

Slade chuckles. “I’ve been here a long time; the cold doesn’t bother me. Here, look.”

At first he thinks that Slade is talking about showing him something to prove he’s not affected by the cold, but then he follows the gesture of the torch and looks ahead of them to see—

Those doors are bigger than his _dragon_. Bigger than the black, bigger than— He’s not sure he actually has a scale to measure them by except that they make him feel like an ant. They’re built right into the wall at the end of the room, heavy wooden things with big metal bands through them, like they were made for some kind of siege. As if anything could siege this place.

It takes a few moments for him to do anything but stare at that door, and when he finally does he sees the same leather coverings that must be blocking the windows Slade’s talking about. They’re framing the door at the top end in long, narrow strips, three on each side and not beginning until several dozen feet up the wall. There _is_ what looks like wood and metal scaffolding built at each side, steep stairs and thin rails, leading up to the bottom of the windows. Alright, so, humans _did_ build this place and it’s not just some work of legend and myth or something. Someone took into consideration that humans would have to get up to those windows to release and lower the blinds.

That proof that he isn’t trapped in some mythical castle built by the gods or something lets Jason breathe a little easier. Yes, it’s massive. Bigger than anything his kingdom has done, bigger than anything he’s seen, but still made by men at the end of the day. Just men.

“Why not glass?” he asks, the words just kind of falling out of his mouth as he stares up at all of it.

“I imagine they had some difficulty getting any up here, but I can’t say for sure.” Slade points the torch towards the right side of the doors, and Jason follows it towards what looks like a large wooden lever, towards the bottom of the wall. “That will open the doors,” Slade tells him. “It’s made for two average men, but if you have enough strength you can do it yourself.”

Jason eyes the doors, utterly disbelieving. “Bullshit. No way one person can open something that big.”

Slade chuckles, arm slipping free of his shoulders as he steps forward. “Come on,” is the invitation he tosses over his shoulder, striding towards the lever faster than Jason currently can hope to match.

He glares at Slade’s back for a moment, but follows. Slower; more painfully.

He’s still a ways off when Slade reaches the lever, wedging the torch into some spot in the wall apparently made for that and then taking hold of the lever with both hands. From Jason’s perspective the lever looks to be nearly as big as Slade himself, and yet when he pushes down, stance clearly showing the weight and muscle he’s putting into it, it _moves_.

Jason’s head lifts to stare as a loud, creaking groan fills the room and the doors slowly sweep inwards. The rasp of the wood against the stone floor only lasts maybe half a minute, and then the doors are standing open and light and _freezing_ air is rushing in. He shivers, pulling the coat in tighter around him and trying to bury his fingers in the fur. That only holds him a second though, before curiosity drives him forward towards the open space. He’s peripherally aware of Slade approaching from the side, but he’s drawn by that open space and follows the urge till he’s standing in the middle of the open doors and staring outwards.

There’s a large, flat, stone area just outside of the doors, and there’s a fine layer of snow over it but that doesn’t quite hide the dozens and dozens of claw marks scraped into its surface. Landing marks; he’s intimately familiar with those. Past that is just open space; he can’t see how sharply it drops off past the edge of the landing area, but he can’t see any hint of the mountain past it so it must be steep. And it’s _definitely_ a mountain, by every variation of the term he knows. He can see where it stretches off to the sides, rising and falling in barren crags for as far as his point of view lets him see.

He's seen ranges before, but usually not from on top of them. The air gets pretty thin if you try to fly over a mountain; it's safer to go around when possible, instead of risking the rider or the dragon, and Jason's never had the need to do otherwise. Dick was the natural-born flier, he was the one that took the risks and made moves others didn't dare to. Jason preferred to stick within the guidelines, when possible. He's good, but he was never naturally of the air like Dick was.

Past the drop-off is… a whole land. Green and vast and oddly flat, from this high up. He can see the ranges of a forest, stretching across most of the left side of what he can see, and then just… Plains, meadows; it's hard to tell detail from up here. Big, open space with no hint of civilization. At least not until his gaze reaches the very edges of the horizon, and he can see… something odd. Uneven and unnatural looking. It takes him a few seconds to guess that it's something man-made. A city, maybe. Slade did say that it was about a day away, once you were off the mountain.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" Slade asks, from just behind him. "A whole world under your feet."

Jason blinks, turning his head to look back and find Slade's gaze. "Under my feet?"

Slade steps closer, arm circling his shoulders and resting there, mouth curled in that familiar slight smirk. "What? You've never looked down from on top of your dragon, and thought that there the whole world was, down beneath your shadow? Yours, to do whatever you wanted with?"

"I haven't— No. No, that's not—” A few fantasies about coming down on top of the bullies who used to harass him are _not_ the same as thinking he could conquer the world or something. He narrows his eyes, staring back. "Have _you?_ "

"I've never ridden on a dragon," Slade says, with an amused tint and a wider smirk, "but I imagine the view is quite similar. From up here everything looks… small. Insignificant." Slade's gaze lingers on that view for a couple moments, then turns back to him. "The only people that seem to matter are the ones in the sky with you."

Slade's other hand lifts, slow and careful as it cups his jaw, tilts his chin up with a thumb. The pass of that thumb down his throat makes him swallow, and the breath he takes is cold enough to burn all the way down into his lungs. The smirk's faded from Slade's expression, replaced with an intense focus that keeps Jason held in place, keeps him breathing short and sharp as he stares back and waits, unsure what's about to happen but knowing _something_ is. Something has to be.

His breath catches as Slade's thumb strokes his throat again.

"Am I scaring you, Jason?" Slade's voice is low and smooth, but there's no amusement to it this time.

He frowns. "No. Are you trying to?"

Slade's mouth curves into a smile. "No."

He shifts forward, and Jason stays still, watching him get closer, and closer, and—

His eyes close when Slade's mouth brushes his, lips that feel almost hot in comparison to his chasing the chill away from his skin. The arm around his shoulders slides to cup his skull, fingers tangling in his hair and tilting his head higher up. The other is warm against the side of his throat, thumb hooked beneath his chin and all of it hot against him, breath and skin and mouth.

Slade presses closer to him, a low rumble of sound partially but not entirely muffled by the joining of their mouths. Jason inhales sharply at the flicker of wet heat against his bottom lip, which makes room for that tongue to slide into his mouth, Slade’s hand tilting his head to a sharper angle as it happens. Jason’s hand clenches tight on the staff, then releases it entirely as he grabs for Slade instead. It clatters to the stone and he can’t bring himself to care, not as he curls his hands into Slade’s shirt and pulls. He can feel the heat of Slade’s body even through the fur coat as it presses up against him. The fingers on his throat slip away, to push beneath the coat and circle his waist to tug him in.

His weight shifts, and pain blooms up his leg as he steps onto it. Jason gasps, jerking back onto his good leg and inadvertently breaking the kiss, staggering a bit. Slade’s arm tightens around his waist, taking his weight with ease and stabilizing him as he clutches at the shirt between his fingers. Slade’s breath is warm against his temple, fingers still tangled in his hair and holding him as securely as the arm around his waist.

“Alright?” Slade asks. It’s barely a breath of sound, but it’s so close to his ear that he picks it up without a problem.

Jason gives a slight nod, gritting his teeth a little bit as he shifts his weight more securely onto his good leg. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Lips brush his cheek, and Slade murmurs, “Good."

He tilts his head to look over and up at Slade, and the hand in his hair lets him. He swallows again, watching Slade's expression; the focus and touch of hunger in his eye. Desire.

Slade's gaze flickers to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "Are you going to get defensive if I call you handsome again? Or tell you how much I enjoy kissing you?"

Jason flushes, but he can't pull away from Slade's hold and even if he could, it's not like he could actually do more than stagger away. "Fuck you," he grumbles instead, pushing at Slade's chest, not that it does anything.

The chuckle and the smile only makes him flush harder, but he doesn't actually protest when Slade leans into him. "I'd be glad to," he whispers, and before Jason can even process that he's being kissed again, his attention stolen away by the heat of Slade's lips and tongue.

He can barely breathe by the time Slade pulls away, fingers sliding through his hair and pulling his head back a few inches more. Jason's a little too dazed to fight it. His eyes stay closed as Slade's lips brush his jaw, his neck. Then there's wet heat on his throat, suction, a low ache, and he grunts and shoves at Slade's chest, peeling his eyes open as he tries to get enough air to speak.

" _Slade_ ," he complains, shoving a little harder. "Knock it off. Let _go_."

He gets the distinct impression that he's being only reluctantly listened to, but Slade does release the skin trapped between his lips and pull away. Slowly. He glares, shaking his head free of Slade's grip and twisting a little to aim a shoulder into Slade's chest, keeping him physically at bay as he lifts a hand to his neck, poking at the sore spot on his neck. A mark. Slade sucked a damn mark into his skin. He glares a little harder.

"You're a dick," he points out, covering the mark with his hand. "Don't fucking do that."

Slade lets go of his hair, but only to take the wrist of his hand and pull it away, baring the mark despite his slight struggle against it and raising his hand until Slade can press a kiss to his knuckles. "Why?" he asks through a smirk, pushing his fingers up till the second kiss can be pressed to his palm. "There's no one here to see, if it's embarrassment."

"There's going to be a _dragon_ ," Jason snaps, but that's reflex more than anything.

"He won't mind."

" _I_ mind. I don't want you to, alright? No marks, no sucking, no— no _biting_ , or anything else. Got it?" He's sure his cheeks are red, sure it's visible, but Slade only looks at him through a smile, studying him with that one good eye.

"Understood," is the answer he gets, amused but — he's pretty sure — sincere. "I'll restrain myself to just your mouth then."

His cheeks burn brighter. "That's not what I meant," he gets out, somehow even steadily.

Slade's fingers slide along the base of his wrist, mouth still hovering near his knuckles but not actually touching them. He can feel the rush of hot air as he says, "So you don't want that either?"

"I—” Jason grasps for words, but the automatic refusal falls flat and he can't find anything else ready to come to his tongue.

"I'll stop," Slade murmurs, watching him. "If you tell me to. But only if you tell me to."

He shivers. He's not sure it's just from the cold. Slade keeps mainly still, holding his wrist and his waist, as if the start to some great dance.

He doesn't say anything.

Slade gives a quiet, knowing hum, and lets go of him to step away. But only far enough to, as Jason watches, bend down and pick his staff off the ground. Slade offers it to him with a smile, and fingers brush his as he takes it with only a bit of hesitance.

"Would you like to see more, Jason?”

Okay, that’s… that’s easier.

He takes a breath, and meets Slade's gaze. "Yes. I'd like that."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

They don’t get far enough for Jason to see the entire fortress. Slade takes him down the first of two passageways, where there are massive, high-ceilinged rooms that were apparently meant to be the homes of the riders the place was built for. Six in total, but only one isn’t covered in a thick layer of dust.

There are high, slatted gaps of windows that let in thin streams of light, but it’s clear that most of the light is supposed to come from a massive fire pit to one side of the room. The one in the lived-in room has a layer of ash at the bottom, but it’s piled high with a stock of wood; mainly logs that Jason is pretty sure are bigger around than he is. More off to the side as well, in neat stacks. There’s a scuffed, worn side of the room that’s built roughly circular and clearly where the black sleeps, and then an actual bed pressed into a different corner, with several large furs lying across it and a large dresser nearby. They’re the only part of the room that looks untouched.

At the end of the passageway is what looks like a much upgraded version of the kitchen Jason remembers from home, and he’s actually sort of impressed with how well stocked it is considering the only people here are Slade and the dragon. Dragons don’t tend to be that big on anything but meat, but there’s actually a small collection of relatively fresh vegetables and various other basic cooking supplies mixed in among the mass of salted, stored meat.

(Dragons prefer fresh, but they’ll eat preserved meat for the sake of convenience. Unless they’re in a mood, anyway, as Jason knows very well.)

By the time Slade’s shown him all of that his leg’s starting to ache fairly badly, and he only makes it back to the main hall before he has to call a stop to the tour. He’d _like_ to see the rest — whatever’s down that other passageway — but he just can’t.

Slade _picks him up_ to carry him back to the servant’s quarters, arms under his knees and shoulders like a bridal carry, and it’s unnerving and embarrassing and maybe a little bit of a thrill. Jason protests, loudly, except then Slade leans down and kisses him and he hasn’t got the room for words anymore. And maybe it’s nice to not be on his feet. Maybe it’s nice, having Slade smirk down at him with warm amusement and kiss him again while he’s blushing, cheeks and lips both warm. Maybe he doesn’t complain any more after that.

It isn’t until they’re back in the room, and Slade’s lying him down in the midst of that whole collection of pillows that inhabit one corner of it, that Jason gets an inkling of where this is going. Slade’s hands are firm as they push the big fur coat off his shoulders and toss it off to the side, and then one is curling around the back of his neck and tugging him into a kiss as Slade moves over him. On top of him. A tongue slides into his mouth when he lets it, and Slade is making appreciative, low sounds into the kiss and that’s _thoroughly_ distracting.

Though not quite distracting enough that when Slade’s other hand touches his chest, fingertips pushing up beneath the hem of his borrowed top to skim along his stomach, he doesn’t immediately notice. It only takes a moment, even distracted as he is, to realize that this is pushing towards a little more than just kissing. Slade wants to— He—

Jason’s grabbed Slade’s wrist before he’s fully cognizant of the movement or why he’s done it. The kiss Slade has him in breaks, and Jason opens his eyes and stares upwards at the heated, single golden one looking back at him. His breath is coming sharp, his body suddenly tense with Slade hovering over him, strung tight with the knowledge of what comes next.

Is that… Does he want that? Does he want Slade to—? He’s never gone that far with… with anyone. Never really thought about maybe doing _more_ with Slade than just kissing. Maybe he should have, but it hasn’t been that long since he even realized he had any attraction at all and it just didn’t even occur to him to think about it. He likes _this_ , that he’s sure of, but more? The idea is— is overwhelming. He’s not even completely sure how it works with another man.

Jason takes a sharp lungful of air, feeling the light pressure of Slade’s fingers against his skin, the firm grip supporting the back of his neck.

“No,” he finally gets out. “No.”

Slade, still sitting patiently above him, gives a slight nod. “Alright.” His hand pulls away, then turns in Jason’s grip to slip free and take his fingers instead, lifting them up until Slade can lower his head and press a soft kiss to the back of his knuckles. There’s a slightly wicked edge to the smile Slade gives him then, looking up over his hand. “Should I get back to kissing you then?”

Jason swallows, and can only manage a small nod as he stares up at Slade’s eye and mouth.

It’s enough to get his answer across.

Slade lies down at his side with an easy sort of grace, pulling him close with a few guiding touches until they’re chest to chest. One big arm circles his waist, hooking up along his back to press one broad palm between his shoulder blades and hold him close. The other fits in beneath their heads, with Slade’s fingers curling in his hair and cradling his skull. It isn’t until Slade kisses him again, slow and deep, that Jason figures out anything to do with his own hands except have them squished between them. He mirrors the arm over the waist, curling his fingers into the silk smoothness of Slade’s shirt to ground himself even as the rest of his mind threatens to desert all rational thought.

Slade kisses him until he’s breathless, floating in sensation and desire as he takes shallow gasps. Then some more.

Finally he has to tilt his head away to break the connection, tucking his face into Slade's shoulder just to get the room to breathe and steady himself. It’s a heavy, masculine scent that he drags into his lungs, with his nose buried against Slade’s skin like it is, and it makes his head spin just a little as he inhales it. That sort of foils the whole ‘steadying’ part of things, but he does manage to get his breath back after several deep inhalations and that’s enough to make him willing to tilt his head enough to look back up.

He can only see Slade’s chin and part of his cheek from this angle, but then Slade shifts slightly back to give himself the room to look down. The warmth in his look is sort of expected, but there’s an eased relaxation to Slade’s expression as well that Jason finds unfamiliar. He blinks, just looking at it, and Slade gives a slow smile that brings just a bit of that amused edge back to his face.

“Comfortable?” he’s asked, in a low, soft rumble of sound.

“Now that I can breathe, sure,” Jason responds, before he’s thought about it. He flushes even as Slade chuckles, fingers giving a light tug to his hair.

Slade leans in, brushing lips over his before murmuring, “Maybe I like you breathless.” A harder kiss then, stealing his breath all over again with the slide of a clever tongue, before Slade pulls back. “You know, it does make you look wonderfully _debauched._ ”

Jason can feel his cheeks go red in a sudden hot flash. “ _Slade_.”

“What? Object to that word?” A smirk that’s definitely over the edge into something dirty. “Debauched?” Slade draws the syllables out into a drawl, the hand on Jason’s back pushing harder for a moment to force him in closer.

His breath catches at the sudden proximity, and not just because Slade’s lips are just a couple inches away or because the word sounds like some kind of lewd promise coming out of those lips in that tone. He’s— His legs are pressed close to Slade’s as well, one right up against him, and that’s— That’s a dick. That is definitely a dick lined up against his thigh.

“You’re hard,” is all Jason manages to say, half shocked and a little bit choked.

Slade doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by it. His voice is steady, still amused. “You’re attractive. Do you blame me for reacting when I get to kiss someone that looks like you?”

Jason can’t really find an answer, which is probably good since his throat has drawn tightly shut and he doesn’t think he could make much of a sound anyway. He doesn’t know what to do with knowing that Slade is— Slade is hard, and _wants_ him, and—

“Jason,” Slade says, breaking into the spiral of his thoughts and jerking his gaze back up from where it was drifting. There’s a piercing edge to Slade’s gaze, like it sees right down past his bones. The fingers in his hair slide up till they can stroke his bangs back from his forehead, Slade’s eye following them for a moment before returning. “You’ve made your boundaries clear, and I’m not planning on crossing them.” A quick flicker of a smirk. “Not until you want me to, anyway.”

Jason swallows. “But—” He can’t find the _words_. “But you—”

“Would _highly_ enjoy taking everything you have to give,” Slade finishes, and Jason inhales as he finds himself being pressed down on his back, Slade shifting over him with near predatory intent. “Making you scream and cry out for me, as I take you to heights you’ve never even dreamed of. Leaving you with enough marks that anyone that so much as glances at you knows you’re mine…” Slade pauses, and his next words are soft, with none of the same intent or desire to them. “When you want me to. Not before. Understand?”

He can’t quite get his mouth to work, but he manages a nod. Then a breath, and his gaze flickers off to the side. "That's a little intense," he says quietly, voice coming out a little rough.

Slade's mouth curls into a small grin, flashing just enough teeth to catch his full attention. "What about me makes you think that I wouldn't be intense?" Jason blinks, coming up short — _again_ , god _damnit_ — of an answer as Slade shifts back, grin sliding to a smaller smirk. The, "Come here," is a rumbling command, and Jason doesn't actually have time to figure out what exactly it means before Slade's lying down and pulling him close again.

He expects a kiss, but Slade just brings him in, head tipping up and away from his. A moment later there's fur being pulled on top of him. _It's the coat_ , his mind supplies a moment before he looks down and confirms that thought, and Slade's wrapping a heavy arm over his waist and giving a deep sound of contentment as everything settles into place. The coat covers him entirely, the collection of pillows is really sort of amazingly comfortable beneath him, and Slade's mouth is at his forehead, breathing hot air out across his hair.

"Is this a nap?" Jason asks, the words slipping free before he's given permission to himself to say them. Slade gives a grunt that sounds sort of like confirmation. Jason tilts his head up, getting out from under Slade's height to look at his closed eye and the ease of his expression. "I'm not tired."

Slade's eye slips open to a narrow slit, the accompanying eyebrow arching. "Do you want me to get you a book?"

"No, I…” Jason shifts, actually considering the idea of just... lying here. Napping. Cuddling? Is this cuddling? It actually does feel sort of nice, being all wrapped up in the fur and with Slade holding him like this. He doesn't really feel like he _needs_ to leave. "It's fine."

He gets an already drowsy sounding hum of approval as Slade's eye shuts again, before his mouth parts in a large yawn. It reminds Jason, bizarrely and suddenly, of how Red yawns before she sleeps. Flashes of teeth, and a big sigh, before a shift and resettle.

"I've never seen you sleep," he remembers suddenly, staring up at Slade's face.

Slade's grunt is a bit more perfunctory this time, but it's still followed by a rumble of, "Maybe I've decided to trust you're not going to kill me when I do." Jason honestly can't tell whether it's sincere or mocking, and he decides not to ask.

It feels like barely moments before Slade's breathing evens out into something deeper and slower. The arm over his waist drapes heavier, fingers sliding across his back till they're resting curled at the bottom side of it, and Jason quietly decides that yes, Slade really is asleep. Just like that. Jason’s almost a little jealous at the ease of it; getting to sleep that simply sounds really nice.

Instead of getting that, Jason shifts to get a bit more comfortable. He ends up pushing his head in underneath Slade’s chin, tucking a bit closer and very carefully adjusting his healing leg so it can lie without any tension in it. He’s not _tired_ exactly, but it has been a lot of walking and maybe it might be nice to just lie here for awhile and not move. His leg can get some rest, and he can let his mind go blank for a little while and just enjoy how warm Slade is against him, with the draped coat stopping all possible intrusion of cold air.

His eyes drift shut.

Well… Maybe he can manage just a few minutes of napping. Since he’s stuck here anyway.

Just a few.

 

* * *

 

Jason taps the end of his staff against the floor, watching Slade as he moves about the room, collecting things to put in the pack he's loading. Carefully wrapped food (not enough for the trip, Jason thinks, but maybe Slade is planning on getting some at the town, before he heads back), a change of clothes that's a bit finer than the traveling clothes Slade's donned, and a sack of what Jason's pretty sure is legitimate gold coins. He didn't get a chance to look, but he heard the clink of it, and it certainly dropped into the pack like it was heavy. Slade's confident, hands moving with practiced intent as he folds and fills the pack.

Jason wonders, as he watches, how often Slade actually goes down there. Does the town know that he's affiliated with the black dragon? They can't live this close to the mountain and not know that it's here; if Slade regularly travels down there for supplies, then there must be questions about where he's from. Especially considering that Slade looks, from head to toe, like a nobleman. Even his traveling clothes are a full few grades above what Jason's ever worn himself; engraved leather and carefully embroidered, rich cloth. The cloak is velvet, Jason's pretty sure, and it's a big black thing that actually nearly sweeps the ground even with Slade's height.

Also, there's the little thing of Slade clearly having enough money to pay for just about anything, with having access to wherever the black's hoard is. That's the sort of thing that draws notice.

Slade glances up, flashing him a smirk, and Jason feels himself flush. He looks away, fighting to master the burn in his cheeks even as his mind does its best to remind him of every bit of the day before.

Waking up to Slade still holding him, awake but apparently in no hurry to move. The subsequent, lingering, kisses were enough to thoroughly convince him of that. The rest of the day was just as lazy, resting his leg and with Slade close at almost every moment. The bath had been… new. Interesting. He's never seen Slade take one — another of those things he apparently saved for while Jason slept — and he's _still_ trying to shake away the memory of wet, slicked back white hair and the cascade of water down a powerful back and over old, faded scars. That had been his excuse for looking, when Slade had caught him at it. Slade didn't call him out on it, at least.

There hadn't really been any discussion of it, but night fell and Slade followed him to bed, and Jason… Well, he didn't argue. It was nice, falling asleep with Slade at his back. Arm heavy over his waist once more, except that now it was the right direction for Slade to take one of his hands and interlace their fingers, as idly as if they'd done it a dozen times before.

Jason's had a hard time thinking of anything but that, all morning. Even knowing that Slade is leaving hasn't been fully able to get his attention, but maybe that's sort of a good thing. If he was really _thinking_ about it, and was a little less distracted, maybe he'd be fixating more on the fact that Slade leaving also means that the black's about to arrive. He's glad to shy away from that thought for now.

Since he's looking away, he misses Slade moving towards him till he's just a few feet away, and by that point there's not really the time to do anything but take in a small breath as Slade leans down. One hand wraps around the back of his neck, tangling in the short hair at the base of his skull and pulling him into a kiss. Confident and easy on Slade's side of it, as if this isn't still brand new and Jason isn't still fumbling his way around everything.

A second hand strokes up the side of his neck, fingers curling loosely near his ear as Slade pulls back a bit and Jason pries his eyes open.

"You seem distracted," Slade comments, and there's a certain _tone_ to his voice that makes Jason think he knows exactly what it is that's distracting him. The glint in his eye backs that thought up.

"Maybe," Jason admits, with a small shrug. He might lean just slightly into the touch at his jaw; Slade's fingers warm against his skin.

Slade gives a small hum, something appreciative and amused, and a slightly crooked smile _._ "Well, I'm always pleased to be distracting."

Jason takes a breath, pulling his brain away from remembering Slade's _distractions_ and trying to focus on what's actually going on. "Are you done packing?" he asks, taking a glance to try and see the pack, though it’s apparently behind Slade at his current angle.

He gets a nod, and Slade lowers both hands away from his head. One takes his free hand and wraps strong fingers around it. "Walk with me?"

It's not like Jason's about to refuse that. He gives a nod himself and then carefully braces the staff so he can push himself up to standing with minimal pain. Slade taking a fair bit of his weight helps too. He heads towards the door as Slade strides across the room to gather and throw the pack over one shoulder, and nearly makes it there before Slade does despite his handicap. Only because Slade detours to pull out two torches and light one from the fireplace, holding the unlit one in the same hand but far down enough it won’t light by accident.

The walk is a quiet one, Slade matching his pace and resting one idle hand on the small of his back. Not that he can feel the pressure through the fur coat he’s again wearing. Still, it steadies some part of him to know Slade is there just in case he does randomly topple over. (But reinjuring himself just to keep Slade here is _not_ something he should do, even if the idea is sudden and massively tempting when it occurs. The black will be here regardless of whether Slade is, and one small human isn’t going to get in a dragon’s way if they want something, no matter who it is.)

It’s at the first sight of the massive double doors of the entrance that Jason suddenly can’t help asking, “You can’t stay?”

Slade pauses, drawing him to a halt just outside the door that leads back to the servants’ rooms. The hand on his back rises to his cheek, tilting his jaw up with a thumb as Slade gives a small smile. “I could. But I’m not going to.” Jason barely makes the first sound of a protest before Slade’s speaking over him. “Hush; you’ll be fine. It’s just a few days, and he’s not going to kill you, remember? You’ll do alright without me.”

Jason grips the staff tightly enough his fingers ache as he tries to breathe, forcing himself to inhale slowly, and exhale it again just as slow. “Alright,” he makes himself agree, dipping his gaze away. “Alright.”

Slade’s right. The black took him here, had Slade keep him alive; what would be the point in killing him now instead of just ending it back on that battlefield? There were plenty of opportunities if all the black wanted was a meal, and if Slade knew that was what was going to happen, surely he wouldn’t be getting so… personal. Right?

And maybe, if actually seeing the black panics him too much, or if he really thinks he _is_ going to get eaten, he can just go back into the room he’s been sharing with Slade and hide there until Slade gets back. There are supplies there, enough wood to keep the fire going, and it’s too small for dragons. Yeah, alright. That’s an escape plan that he’s glad to have, when he wants it. That makes this a little easier.

Slade must be able to see the new acceptance in his eyes, because he smiles and gives a quiet chuckle. “Good.” The lit torch slides into a holder by the door, the other staying in Slade’s hand but lowering. “Then maybe just a bit of memory for the road?”

Jason doesn’t have the time to ask what that means before Slade is reaching past him, closing the door to the servants’ quarters with an easy tug and then, in the same moment, pressing him back against that same wood. A hand at his waist takes his weight before his automatic step back can actually come down on his bad leg, and then it’s just him and the door and Slade pressing up against him in one long, solid line. The hand on his waist lets go once he’s stable, rising to curl around the back of his neck instead and angle him up for a deep, claiming kiss. Jason really can’t find any protest.

He gives a small groan into the kiss, free hand finding the velvet of Slade’s cloak to hold onto as every inch of his mouth is explored and taken. Maybe he’s new to this, but Jason is _really_ enjoying learning.

He doesn’t fully process the heavy _click_ of a lock until Slade pulls away from him, stepping out of range and — as Jason pulls his eyes open in confusion — visibly pocketing a silver-colored key. Jason blinks, and then very slowly puts that connection together and gropes backwards to find the door’s handle in disbelieving desperation.

It’s locked. Slade’s _locked him out_.

“Slade,” he protests, maybe even begs. “Slade, no. That’s—”

“A very surefire way to piss a dragon off,” Slade finishes, in an entirely unsympathetic tone. “Hiding from him? Really Jason, I’d think you’d know better. You’ll be fine out here; I’ve shown you where you can sleep, and where the food is. You’ll survive for a few days, I’m sure.”

“The bed in the _black’s_ room?” Jason asks, voice rising into incredulousness. “Slade, come on, please, just unlock the door and I promise I’ll… I’ll stay out here, alright? If something goes wrong—”

“If something goes wrong,” Slade cuts him off with, “this isn’t going to save you, kid. You can’t run; you’re not going to escape a dragon.”

It's not unkind, the way Slade says it, but that doesn't mean that Jason likes hearing the reminder that the way he is right now, he's completely, utterly helpless against a beast like the black. He doesn't have a weapon, or armor, and even if he did he can barely even walk without the stupid staff. What's he going to do? Hobble across the room and just ask it politely to let him blind its other eye and then somehow escape?

Slade steps forward, and Jason jerks his head up to meet the single-eyed gaze only a moment before a hand cups his cheek once more. "You'll be fine," Slade murmurs, leaning in to brush lips over his. "You faced him down before; what's different now?"

Jason stares, and then bursts out with, "What _isn't?!_ "

The smirk doesn't actually feel like it's agreeing with him, and neither does the small, deep laugh. Slade lights the second torch off of the first before actually answering him.

"You're right." The fingers of Slade's free hand pinch his cheek, and Jason jerks back with a hissed ' _Ow_ , what the _fuck?_ ' before Slade adds, "This time he already likes you. Much less dangerous, isn't it?" He's turning before Jason can come up with any response to that, striding off across the room and calling, "I'll be back in a few days!"

He opens his mouth to call after, but ends up clicking it shut again and just clutching at his staff as he strangles the words back down his throat. He can't— What is he supposed to—?

He can't catch Slade, not moving at that sort of a pace, and he doesn't have any other choice. Slade won't stay, he won't unlock the door, and he's already said no to as much as Jason's willing to beg. _Fuck_ , he's got no other choice but just to stand here and… and try not to panic. He won't beg. He _won't_. Not for nothing.

His refusal to let anything escape his throat, and the stranglehold he has to keep to make that happen, makes him half-blind to all of it, but still he watches with a sort of desperation as Slade pushes the lever down far enough that the doors scrape just slightly open. Then he's slipped through and he's just _gone_ , leaving only the second torch, burning over beside the lever that Jason knows he can't hope to manage himself. Jason doesn't know how the doors close again with Slade on the outside, but the mechanics of it aren't something that he can spare the attention for. The only thing that he can think as he hears that scrape of wood over stone is how much it feels like a death sentence.

The room's mainly dark, with only the two torches burning for light, and it strikes in a sudden rush how _alone_ he is.

Since he's been awake, Slade's nearly always been around in one way or another. Helped him with his injury, shown him around as much as possible, just existed in the same space as him, but now…

The silence weighs down on his shoulders, cold nipping at the bits of skin not covered by the coat he's wearing. The hall once again feels _massive_ ; empty of all the life it was built for like some sort of massive tomb. Jason's never been especially superstitious, but being here alone, without the confidence and clear familiarity Slade has with this place, he feels unwelcome. Out of place. Like an ant in a hall of giants.

What he wouldn't give to have Red at his side. Or Dick. Or _any_ of his family. Together, they could always fill a room. They were always enough for whatever challenge faced them.

It hits Jason, hard and with a sharp rush of guilt, that he hasn't really _thought_ about his family much since those first few days. He has nothing but Slade's assurance that they're not all dead, and all that's based on is one man's supposed knowledge of the behavior of a dragon. A _wild_ dragon. God knows how accurate that is, and even if they are alive, who knows how badly they were hurt? And what about Red? Is she okay? Will she _be_ okay?

What is he _doing_ up here, messing around with Slade, while his family could be worried sick about him? Or while they think he's dead? His leg isn't healed enough to leave, not by the path that Slade showed him, but that doesn't mean he can't be at least preparing for it. Asking for maps of the area, figuring out where his home is, _anything_. Just something more than just sitting around waiting and… and having _fun_ while he doesn't know if Red…

No. No he can’t do this anymore. This thing with Slade, whatever it is, it’s fun and he’s enjoying it and Jason does owe him for taking care of him while he’s been hurt, but that can’t be his focus. He has to get back to his family, and if that means giving up whatever it is that he’s found here, then so be it. He’ll do what he has to.

Jason takes a steadying breath, straightening his back and easing his grip on the staff. For now, all he has to do is survive the black. One step at a time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another chapter; hope you enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Jason decides, pretty quickly, that he's not about to just sit and wait for the black to show up. It's tempting to just flatten himself into a corner and try not to think about it, but he doesn't know how long it might be until the black gets here, and the torches will only last so long even if he was really going to sit still till that happens. So he takes the torch from beside the door, and does his best to balance both that and the staff as he crosses the room once more. Not something he's had any practice at.

He goes back to the black's room first, and after a glance at the curved alcove of its resting place makes his way to the dresser beside the bed. He has to at least know what's in here if he's going to be stuck out here with the black. Just because he _can_ wear the same clothes the whole time doesn't necessarily mean he wants to, and what if it… Gods, he doesn't know. Grabs him and rips something? Catches it on fire? Even the dragons that he actually knew could be massive dicks when they wanted to, or just not really considerate of fragile things like cloth.

The dresser has a stock of clothes that all seem to be Slade's size, but the ones out here are definitely themed more towards colder weather. They also are conspicuously not dusty, unlike everything else in this human section of the black's room. Did Slade move them here, knowing that he was going to be locked out? (Jason's still a little bit in shock that Slade really did that; the _bastard_. He gets it, unfortunately, but he's not at all happy.)

The bed's dusty, but Jason has absolutely no intention of sleeping in the same room as the black, no matter what Slade implied anyway. There are other rooms; he'll just clean off one of those enough to sleep in and he'll move the damn furs if he has to. He does not have to share a room with the same beast that hurt Red. And him.

(No matter whether it was actually their own faults or not, it still _happened_.)

He does have to carry the furs over, and the dust sends him into a couple sneezing fits, but he's just finishing getting the last of things moved over when he hears the _thud_ echoing down the halls. Jason freezes up for a moment, but then grits his teeth and takes the torch and his staff up again. He's not going to hide in some corner and wait for the black to find him. He has to face his fears at some point, right? If he's going to get eaten might as well just get it over with.

It’s a few minutes walk back, at his pace, and he hears the scrape of the door as he’s nearing the end of the corridor back to the main hall. It stalls him for a moment, but a deep breath and a grim knowledge that it’s way too late to turn back now propels him forward again. Jason enters the hall, listening to the door finally stop moving before he lifts his gaze towards it.

It’s wide open, and the black is stepping through, wings settling against its back as it enters the fortress. It’s as big as Jason remembers, and its head is already turned to look at him. He tightens his grip on the staff and holds his ground through sheer force of will as it fully passes the door. In the sheer massiveness of the hall it almost looks more normal, not like the ancient beast it must be to be that size, though he thinks if it spread its wings they might just touch either wall.

It only looks at him for a moment, tail curling in behind it to clear the doors as well, and then it turns, lifting up on both hind legs. Massive paws press on one side of the open doors, and the dragon snorts smoke and leans its weight into the wood. Both doors move in tandem as it presses the one shut with easy strength, till they close completely and the hall is mostly dark once again. Except for Jason’s torch, and the glint of the light reflected in its single eye as it drops back down to the floor.

His breath feels frozen in his lungs. The shadow of it moving is vague, only barely touched by his torch’s light where the scales reflect a bit of it. It’s getting closer, he’s sure, but he can tell that mostly by the scrape of its tail and click of claws against the stone; so much louder than he’s used to hearing those noises. He can’t run. He’d never make it.

The dragon lifts onto its back legs again, and he can just see the flick of its wings partially opening. The red glow as it opens its mouth illuminates more of it, and the flame that streams over the ceiling makes him flinch, cringing closer to his staff as his eyes slam shut against the sudden light. He hears it drop back to the ground, and the light… remains. There’s no heat, so he cautiously cracks his eyes open to find the whole hall illuminated in the flickering orange light of a fire. When he lifts his gaze, he finds its source in a giant basin hanging from the center of the ceiling, flames licking out from over the top.

It’s a giant… fire-pit. Not just candles on a chandelier but a whole metal, suspended, fire-pit to provide light for the cavernous room. Light that will last a whole lot longer than just a few torches might.

Jason blinks up at it, his shoulders slowly relaxing from about-to-die tension as he stares. At least until he hears the dragon approaching. His gaze snaps back down to focus on it, and there’s that urge to run again, to get _away_ from the massive predator coming at him. It takes a couple deep breaths, but he shoves that urge way down in the pit of his stomach and makes his back straighten, his shoulders square. He’s _no_ coward.

It stops in front of him, wings settling against its back as it tilts its head to look down at him with that one working eye. The scrape of its tail as it pulls it forward grabs Jason’s attention for a second, hands clenching as he imagines it just swinging around and hitting him; whip-fast or with all of that strength and there go his _ribs—_

It stops, curved around the length of the black’s body with the tip resting near its front paws.

Jason doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his lungs start to ache, and his inhalation comes in a sudden rush as a shiver makes its way down his back with almost violent force. His gaze lifts to the black’s head, which is lowering towards him along with the rest of its body as it sinks into a crouch. It’s the paralyzing stiffness of the fear that lets him hold his ground, more than any kind of bravery, as its head comes down to the ground just in front of him.

Hot breath washes over his face, and Jason grimaces a little at the feeling and the smell of it. It brings with it an odd wave of familiarity too; the number of times that Red’s breathed right at him just to make him make faces…

Red. That’s right, Jason _has_ to survive this. If being brave is what made the black interested in him to begin with, he just has to be again. He can’t just stand here paralyzed and mute and hope everything turns out okay, he has to _make_ it happen.

He swallows and makes himself take a steadying breath, meeting the golden gaze of the black as it continues to watch him. His voice is much less steady, but he manages a rough, “So, you brought me here.”

There’s no response, other than another breath exhaled in his face. Then, as the silence echoes, a very slight narrowing of its eye. Jason isn’t sure it’s actually unfriendly, but it’s hard to think of it as anything else and he ends up just saying the next thing to pop into his head without thinking about it.

“I hear you have a name.”

Its head tilts, and then it shifts forward and Jason has just a second to think about making a panicked retreat backwards before its snout nudges his side. It knocks him off balance, making him drop the torch as he flails to grab his staff with both hands instead, just barely getting it braced before his weight can come down on his bad leg. It nudges him a second time before he’s even fully balanced, and he staggers back a step and has to bite down on a yelp as pain flares up from his thigh.

“Hey!” he exclaims, trying to balance and get off his bad leg and figure out where the torch dropped because he really doesn’t want to be on _fire_. “What the hell?! What do you _want?_ ”

It snorts, flicking its head towards the area behind Jason, and he twists to look. The darkness of the hall he and Slade _didn’t_ explore looks back at him. Then he gets shoved again and nearly falls over, and his head snaps back around.

He _just_ gets his feet under him, stepping backwards before he can get pushed again. “Fuck! Knock it off! I can _walk_.”

It snorts as if it doesn’t believe him, stepping forward and lifting its head towards him _again_ , and _anger_ sweeps up Jason’s spine.

“Back off!” he shouts, whipping the staff around and smacking the end right into the vulnerable, soft edge near one nostril. It jerks back with a huff. “Don’t shove me around you fucking overgrown lizard! I’m not going _anywhere_ if you keep knocking me over every two seconds!”

The black shakes its head, snorting flame into the air, and Jason realizes in a sudden, cold flash what he’s just _done_ as the heat washes over his face.

He barely has the time for the panic to sweep up his spine, drawing his throat tight, before the black's head is dipping back towards him. Its mouth opens a bit, teeth showing in the gap as it stares down at him with a narrowed eye and the glow of fire spilling from between its teeth. Jason’s still holding the staff in front of him, both hands tight around it as he relives the sharp, terrible certainty that he’s about to die. Roasted alive because he backed off a wild, black dragon like he would one of the ridden ones at home; all his worries and he barely lasts a minute before he pisses it off. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Plus side, point blank dragonfire is a fast way to go. So is a decisive snap of teeth.

There’s a deep rumble from the black as its snout comes down to just before him, heat blowing out across Jason’s skin as he stands in front of it. He doesn’t even know if he’d be running, if he could. What real chance would there be to escape, anyway?

His hands tighten on the staff, chin lifting in defiance of the threat (because what the hell else does he have _left?_ ) as the black tilts its head to better look at him with that single eye. It stares for a moment, then there’s a lighter rumble and it pulls away, breathing out with rolling, short chuffs. It sits back, still looking down at him but with none of the threat of seconds before. Only amusement, and interest.

Jason blinks, and then a wave of relief weakens his knees and almost sends him sinking to the ground. Except that annoyance follows a bare moment later. “Are you kidding me? Could you _stop_ that?” he asks, his voice coming out as shaky as his limbs feel. “I can’t do this— this thing where I think I’m going to die and then you start _laughing_ at me. It’s not— I can’t— _Fuck_.”

His knees give out. He comes down on his ass harder than he should, pain sparking up his bad leg, but that’s so far underneath his notice right now. He lets go of the staff to curl up there on the ground, arms around his knees and his head ducking low as he tries to just stop _shaking_.

Scales and heat nudge one of his arms, and Jason pulls away from it. “No,” he refuses, “fuck off. Whatever _this_ is, I don’t want to do it, okay?”

It snorts at that, huffing a laughing breath and pulling back. Jason looks up just enough to watch as it backs off a step, arching into a stretch and flicking both wings wide for a moment. Not unlike a cat, and not unlike the other dragons Jason’s known. Some bits of behavior are apparently instinctual, no matter whether the dragon is wild or raised among humans. It’s a weird moment of familiarity.

The black settles to the floor, lying down and resting its head on the stone, tilted to watch him. Jason stares over his knees at the unblinking golden eye watching him. Well, not unblinking, but close enough to it to not matter against humans.

"I don't understand," Jason complains, not liking the desperate edge to his voice but not able to get rid of it. "What's the point of this? Why am I here? What do you _want_ from me?" The black huffs, but doesn't otherwise move. Jason immediately feels like an idiot. "No, guess there’s no point in asking you, is there? Maybe you can understand me but I sure as hell can't understand _you_.”

It only watches him, but there’s something about the sharp glint to its eye that makes him think it’s still amused.

Jason makes himself take in slow, deep breaths, dipping his head to press against his knees again. He just needs to— to breathe, to make himself calm down and just _think_. Panicking isn't going to help him get out of this, like it never helped him in any of his training, or his life before that.

Alright, so, the black isn’t interested in killing him. It’s had every opportunity to, so if he’s still alive that means that whatever it wants is something else. Slade said that it collected things that it found interesting, and pretty heavily implied that he fit in that category, so the black wants him because… Because he stood up to it? Because he didn’t just collapse in a groveling heap like most people probably do? Then that means that it likes him for his _spirit_ , and that means…

That means it probably isn’t going to kill him for showing that. Probably. It’s as good a guess as he has about a beast with an intelligence and instincts so different from his.

Who knows what that means about his chances of being able to leave, but the idea that he’s not going to suddenly die is a sort of comforting one. As long as he’s alive, he has the chance to get back to Red and his brothers. That’s the important part. (Where Slade might fit into any of this, he doesn’t… He doesn’t know.)

He breathes in and lifts his head, meeting the black’s gaze. Slowly, with it watching him, Jason reaches for his staff and levers himself back to his feet. It’s a good weight in his hands, and he holds it for a moment to steady himself against what he’s about to do. If he has this right, it should be safe. Maybe not effective, but safe.

“Alright, ground rules,” he says, lifting his chin and staring the dragon right in the eye. “And I know you can understand me so don’t you even _try_ pretending that you don’t.”

Its huff of breath is undeniably a laugh, but it lifts its head off the ground and seems to pay attention.

“First, you stop it with this threatening-death-because-it’s-funny thing. It’s not funny to me, and I can’t deal with being terrified every time I do something that you’re about to kill me. You have a problem with something I do? Fine, threaten, but it’s not a damned joke!” Jason inhales, tightening his grip on the staff for a second. “Second, I am _hurt_. One of your spikes went through my leg, remember? I can’t keep up with you, and you’re just going to have to _deal_ with that. No more shoving me around; it hurts and it’s not helpful, got it?”

The black watches him for a moment more, and then its head dips in a… a very human inclination.

Jason blinks, staring at that movement and how very _intelligent_ it seems, coming from a dragon. How _human_. Okay, so, absolutely no exaggeration from Slade. The black absolutely understands him.

“Okay, good.” He lets the staff lower, bracing its end against the ground. “So, you want me to go in there?”

He points with the staff towards that darkened entryway, and the Black’s gaze lifts to it, then back to him. There’s no affirmative, but its gaze is steady and there’s also no negative so Jason’s going to take that as a yes.

He exhales and turns his head to look for the torch, finding it just a few feet away and still merrily burning. Good. It aches a bit to bend down and get it, but nothing he can’t handle. Then he’s set again; staff, torch, and nothing on him on fire or eaten so that’s a plus. Better than a lot of the scenarios he’d imagined about meeting the black. All things considered, he thinks he’s made it out pretty alright.

“No pushing,” Jason reminds the black, with a lift of his staff towards it.

It snorts, pushing up to sit on its haunches, tail flicking as its head tilts away from him. Imperious indignation, and _oh_ Jason is familiar with that look. Red’s usually wearing it because she thinks he’s offended her somehow though, whether it’s the wrong food or an unpleasant tone of voice, or whatever. Not because she’s being reminded not to do something she should know better about.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he says practically on reflex. “I am totally within my rights to insist on this; I’m not interested in getting hurt because you just didn’t feel like listening to me.”

Another flick of its tail, head and gaze still turned away, and Jason gives up on the whole thing.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says as he turns away, starting towards the ‘suggested’ corridor. “Go ahead and sulk; I’m going.”

Jason gets halfway there before he hears the black move, scales scraping against the stone as it follows him. Stubbornly, he doesn't look back. He refuses to look like he cares what the black's doing; he's not giving it attention after the attitude it's pulled so far. The cold shoulder was always one of the most effective tools he had to get Red to be sorry for something, so hey, maybe it'll work on the black too. (Or Slade when he gets back, the _bastard_. Jason definitely owes him something for the whole door bullshit.)

He can hear the black crossing the distance with long strides, claws tapping against the stone as it steps down and follows him. He holds steady, and keeps his head high and strictly forward.

Heat wafts over his back and then there's a sudden hard pressure on his arms as the coat he's wearing jerks up. Jason yelps, hands clenching on the torch and staff both as his heart leaps up his throat, legs kicking towards the ground that is _not under his feet anymore_.

"What the hell?!" he shouts, in equal anger and panic. His head twists far enough to get a glimpse, as he struggles, of the black's head just behind him and the rows of its teeth.

It's— It's holding him like a goddamn hatchling. No, not even a fucking hatchling because anything but exquisite care with adult dragon teeth would slice right through hatchling skin; they get carried in claws mostly. The black's holding his coat in its teeth like he's a pissy cat, which is _not_ something it should know how to do or even instinctively do. And it's totally unacceptable because— Because…

Jason swallows, staring down at the ground.

Because the ground is far enough away held as high as he is that if he falls he'll break his legs, as a minimum. The only thing stopping that from happening is one enormous dragon with a questionable grip on his coat, and him not squirming enough that he falls out of it. That's—

"Put me the hell down!" he demands, not quite brave enough to struggle but still seriously pissed off. "This is not okay! Put me down, _right now!"_

The black ignores him, heading down the corridor and not even pausing to let him take this new transport style in. Which is probably by design, because the more Jason thinks about it the more he hates it.

Even the ways that he could fight — like a good smack to the nose from his torch — would at best get him dropped to the ground, and at worst provoke a sneeze and get him fried. He can struggle, but that only risks the coat sliding off and him, once again, hitting the ground with way too much force. Otherwise he can what, yell at it? Well, he's definitely going to do at least a little more of that.

He manages a few more shouts, insults and demands both, but the lack of reaction isn't really gratifying so he finally falls silent. Hating every moment of swinging slightly back and forth as the black carries him off.

The corridor's just as big as the other one that Slade did show him, with the occasional arched doorway or actual door that leads to a room that apparently isn't their destination. Jason seethes, not paying all that much attention to any of it half out of spite and half out of just having to keep a handle on how pissed off he is. As much as he _wants_ to, he does not actually want to lash out at the black and get himself dropped.

The black turns into one, eventually. It's as black a room as any of the others, with the torch's light only illuminating the area directly around Jason. Presumably. Hard to tell how far into the blackness he can see when all he can see is more blackness. And the dim hint of a stone floor, just like all the rest of the fortress; not exactly helpful.

Jason stiffens up when he starts to drop, but it only takes a moment for him to realize that he's being carefully lowered, not just let go. It's actually very precise, how the black lowers him just enough for his feet to brace against the ground, and for him to quickly get his staff braced, before letting go. Jason still takes a sharp breath in, almost staggering for a moment but managing to catch his weight before it comes down too hard on his bad leg. There's a bit of an ache, but not enough to stop him from turning around the moment he can manage it.

"Don't _ever_ do that again," he demands, raising his voice enough to make sure it carries up and scowling hard. "I'm not a damn toy, I can _walk!_ "

The black snorts, then lifts its head and straightens as if eyeing something above him. A push of its front legs and small outwards flick of its wings lifts it onto its back legs, before it exhales flames towards the ceiling. Jason glances up to confirm the thought that flits across his mind, and yeah, it's another one of those massive metal braziers. Just enough to light the room up.

This time there's no awe though, he just clenches his jaw together and glares up as the black drops back down to all fours. "You know what? I get why you and Slade get along; you're both massive _dicks_."

His jaw gets tighter as the black chuffs a laugh, and his back stiffens.

“You don’t get to just drag me all over the place; it’s not okay!” The black leans down towards him, and Jason takes a step back, dropping the torch to the side and lifting the staff into both hands. “Don’t you ignore me. I will _hit_ you if you try that again, you understand me?”

The black tilts its head, looking at him for a long moment. Then it gives a small flick of its chin towards him; no, towards whatever’s behind him. Jason wars with himself for an equal moment, not liking the idea of putting his back to the black, especially now. But curiosity wins out, and he compromises with a quick glance over his shoulder. Or it’s meant to be quick, but then he registers what he’s seeing and he can’t help but turn to really _look_.

Books. Massive, wooden shelves that are piled full of them. Enough to put any collection Jason’s ever seen to shame, even if the room is only roughly as big as one of the dragon rooms in the other corridor and not to the scale of the massive entry room.

He swallows, staring up at all of it. The pang of _want_ that hits him right in the middle of the chest is sharp enough he actually feels a little bit breathless. How did these even get here? Jason remembers, vaguely, that Slade did mention that he kept a collection of books, but he didn’t think it was at this _scale_. A few shelves, maybe. Maybe his joke about it being like a hoard wasn’t as ridiculous as he meant it to be. He could probably spend _years_ in here and not read even half of it.

Did the dragon bring it all here? Did Slade? One on behest of the other?

Gods, he wants to get his hands on them.

Jason glances back at the black, who looks just about as smug as a dragon possibly could. He grits his teeth, the desire to bury his face in one of those books and just see what’s _here_ fighting with his anger over getting carted off to see it.

He lasts a few moments.

“This does _not_ make any of your behaviour alright,” he insists, before dropping the torch to the ground and heading for the books.

The scrape of scales makes him look back as he reaches the first shelf, and the black is lying down on the ground, head resting on its paws, tail curling lazily in. Still watching him. Still smug.

“Not okay,” Jason repeats, and reaches for the first book.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Happy New Year, and all that, and I hope you enjoy! (Uh, this was written during a mad-rush night during NaNo so if you spot any typos, let me know. I think I got at least _most_ of them.)
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)   
>  You can find my Pillowfort here!

The library is amazing. The Black is an absolute bastard, shoving him around wherever it wants him with only the barest consideration of what he wants, but he handles that, more or less. It’s worth it, he thinks, to be able to curl up in one of the library’s seats with his leg comfortably stretched out and just _read_.

The collection is impressive, beyond anything he’s ever seen, and he feels like he’s barely even scratched the surface. He’s scanned some of the lower shelves, picked out what he wants, but he can’t currently climb the ladders that allow access to the higher levels, and he’s not about to hurt himself to figure out what’s up there. Not until he heals some more, anyway. He does feel better than he has the rest of the time he’s been here, but that’s not saying all that much. It just means that he needs the staff a little less, and limps a little less heavily.

Hanging out in the library, though, that’s not bad for healing. He’s not on his leg, he’s mostly horizontal, and he’s not doing anything stressful. Well, except for keeping track of the Black.

Though, when he’s buried in some of the books, so deep in the words he never wants to come out, sometimes he even loses track of his dragon companion. Of course, then when he eventually either comes to or the Black wants his attention, it’s a bit of a shock.

Not some of his finer moments.

The only major thing he runs into is when the Black drags him out of the library the first night and to the rooms, and apparently just then discovers that he moved everything to a different room. How he knew that Jason was supposed to be in the same room, he doesn’t know and isn’t going to guess, but there’s an argument. An argument that ends, irritatingly, with the Black forcing him further into the room and then completely blocking the door. Absolute _bastard_.

Only once he promises to come back and sleep in the stupid bed does the Black let him out to grab blankets, and he gets followed the whole way. It’s stupid, and frustrating, and he heavily considers just lying down in the bed he chose and not caring what the Black tries to do, but there’s still that lingering little fear in the back of his head that he might just get roasted if he’s too much of an inconvenience.

Really, genuinely arguing with a dragon isn’t an experience that he’s had before. At least, not outside of Red, and they were partially raised together. They know each other more completely than most people, and he remembers when she was small. When she couldn’t even breathe fire.

The Black, on the other hand, is an unknown. He doesn’t know whether he’ll get roasted, or whether the Black will pick him up and just carry him back, or whether he’s even just drag the whole bed along, and he’s not willing to find out. Not that night, after the whole mess of Slade locking him out of the rooms, and the ‘meeting’ with the Black, and everything else. He’s way too tired.

And the next night, he just… doesn’t think it’s worth the effort. He doesn’t want to try to have that fight, when he’s got no cards to play and no way to make the Black do anything that he doesn’t want to. So though it makes him uneasy, sleeping in the same room as the Black, with all that bulk and all that danger, he forces himself to accept it. He has to.

He finds solace in the library. Maybe he can’t control anything else here, maybe he’s been abandoned to the mercy of a dragon that seems to think of him as something between a plaything and an errant pet, but he can choose what kind of world to get lost in. Diagrams, or stories, or things in different languages that he can only stare at the lines of and try to see if he can make sense of anything.

He wishes, more than once, that he could bring some of it back to his kingdom. He’d love to share this with the scholars there, the workers, _anyone_. Someone there will appreciate all of this, surely.

The days pass both faster and slower than Jason expects. The hours in the library fly past, slipping away until he’s nudged out of his stupor and has to deal with stiff limbs and an aching neck, but outside of the library it drags. When he tries to sleep, or the Black forces him to the kitchens to make himself some kind of meal, or something. It’s less that he doesn’t want to do any of those things, and more that he doesn’t like being forced to do it.

Still, him and the Black mostly reach an… accord. Hard to say agreement, when the Black doesn’t speak and will only offer an inscrutable amusement, most of the time, but it’s something.

The Black doesn’t bother him when he’s in the library, face buried in a novel, and he doesn’t complain when the Black wants him to go somewhere else. It works, more or less. It’s not what he wants, but it’s better than the alternatives, he thinks. Except the alternative where he doesn’t have to deal with any of this bullshit.

Then there’s a day when the Black nudges him out of his chair, exhaling hot air over the back of his neck until he stands with a grumble. It doesn’t feel like time for a meal yet, and it definitely hasn’t been long enough for it to be night already, so he doesn’t know exactly what’s happening. Except, as he stands and glares at the Black, and it snorts and flicks its snout in the direction of the big door out, he does remember.

A few days. Jason’s pretty sure that three or four have passed, which means Slade should be coming back. Oh, well yes, that he’ll definitely get up for. Maybe the Black will be more bearable with Slade around to run interference or diplomacy or whatever it is. Slade’s said that it speaks, that it has a name, and there’s definitely a part of Jason that’s curious what that looks like too. How do a dragon and a human communicate with that much detail?

He rolls his eyes at the Black as it heads out, and follows at his own slower pace. It’s waiting for him in the way they’ve figured out, stretched out along the corridor in the direction it wants him to go, head turned to watch him as he makes his own slow journey from one end of it to the other. Much better than it walking just behind him, one step for every couple dozen of his, or it moving ahead and then looping back.

Compromise has been the name of the game, and Jason is at least slightly pleased that not _all_ of the compromise has been on his end. Most of it, but not all.

(Unless you count not picking him up and carrying him like a ragdoll as a ‘compromise.’ Which it is fucking not, it’s a necessity.)

Eventually, in their mismatched way, they get to the main hall. The dragon is already pushing open the doors, the lever an easy push of its paw where Slade had to strain. It does it slowly though, as if it knows from experience that too fast might result in problems. Maybe it would. Jason doesn’t think doors that big were meant to be opened fast.

He drags his fur tighter around him in anticipation of the rush of cold air, moving into the hall and squinting against the light of the outside world as it starts to stream in. Bright, white light, wholly unlike the orange glow of the flames that otherwise light this place. It actually makes his eyes hurt a little. That’s when the cold air hits him, and he shivers regardless of the fur coat. He has a sudden desire for gloves, since he has to have his hand out on the staff, and spends a second trying to commit that to memory. Surely Slade has some, somewhere.

And the son of a bitch owes him for locking him out of… everywhere nice. The good room, the heated baths, all of it. A pair of gloves would be the least of what he could do to repay that.

The Black gets the doors open almost all the way, then drops its paw back to the floor and looks back at him. It seems to consider for a moment, and then it turns and heads for him. Jason’s not as close to the doors as he would like, but he stops regardless. If it’s coming to him, whatever.

It sinks down in front of him, and how it very carefully nudges his side with its snout, barely even destabilizing him, actually isn’t that bad. He squints at it, as it looks at him as if expecting he’ll understand. Maybe… he does.

“Are you leaving?” he asks, staring at it.

It gives the tiniest dip of its head, and a slow blink. That’s… a yes. Probably.

He squints a little more. “Am I _ever_ going to actually see you and Slade in the same place? What, do you only talk when you’re passing each other on the mountain?”

It huffs amusement, and straightens up to pull away and head for the door.

It’s half irritation, but Jason’s half actually wondering too. Is this normal? Do Slade and the Black only ‘live’ in the same place in name? Do they live in different rooms, trade off time actually in the fortress, and just live… around each other? It sounds bizarre, but Jason has no idea what living with a mostly wild black dragon would be like. Aside from these last few days, anyway, and he suspects that might not be normal. But then, maybe it is.

Slade doesn’t strike him as the kind to be alright with getting bossed around, but maybe he’s wrong.

Maybe this whole thing is just because of him. Maybe they don’t want Jason hiding behind Slade while the dragon is here, and didn’t want the Black here to bother him while he was still healing for that first bit. Or hell, maybe they’re trading time just to make sure that there’s always someone here with him, and usually they go on much longer trips, regularly. After all, the Black was… Well, a long way, when he took Jason. He doesn’t know exactly how far, but far. Maybe that’s the real ‘normal.’

He’ll have to ask.

Jason realizes, a second later, that the Black is probably about to walk outside and close the door on him, and he absolutely does not want to be stuck in this room without a torch or something. Shit.

Does he even have anything on him to light a torch? He’s been sort of relying on the Black to keep things lit for him, and it’s more or less worked out. There have only been a couple times that he was actually stuck with just the Black and the fire he could breathe to light everything up. Otherwise, he’s had torches or more of those ceiling-braziers, though he’s started to wonder how anyone ever planned to clean the ash out of those. The Black just lifts new logs into them to keep the fire going, but there has to be some build up…

No, he does not have anything to light a torch. Oh, that’s not good.

Jason hurries forward, as much as he’s capable of. “Hey! Hang on!”

The Black turns its head to look at him, looking decidedly quizzical despite the lack of any other reaction. It’s at the doorway, paused there to watch him, which Jason really wasn’t completely expecting. Still, it waits for him to hobble a little closer without snorting, or cracking a ‘grin’ with all those teeth.

“Are you going to close the doors again?” he asks, trying to disguise how the stupid walk has made him a little breathless. He’s not out of shape, it’s just this stupid staff and the stupid awkward way he has to walk to not hurt himself. If he could just walk normally, he wouldn’t have a problem with this whole place.

A small nod and unblinking eye. Jason’s glad about that, actually, because it’s fucking cold outside and he definitely doesn’t have the strength to close the doors himself, but that’s not the part he’s concerned with.

“Light something before you go,” he demands, calling it loud enough that he doesn’t have to wait to get all the way over. “I still need to be able to see, you know.”

Now the Black snorts, little puffs of smoke coming out of its nostrils. It does take a step to the side though, lowering its head to breathe out a flicker of flame right beside the lever for the door. It’s right on top of those torches stuck in next to it, and they catch fire easily and begin to burn. One little ball of tension in Jason’s chest eases.

He’s got plenty of others, but one is a good start.

When the Black looks at him, expectantly, Jason resists for a second before giving a, “Thank you.”

That seems to be what was being waited for. The Black turns away from him and moves the rest of the way outside, drawing its tail in behind it to clear the doors. From back here, and with the doors almost fully opened, he can see how the Black then turns back around, looking up at something above the doors. One mighty heft, wings half-spreading, gets it onto its two back legs. Whatever it’s doing, the doors begin to close once again. Jason can see the lever on this side start to lift as well, returning to its original position. It must all be connected, somewhere inside the wall.

Only a dozen seconds, and then the doors grind closed and he’s alone again. Just like that.

The silence settles over his shoulders immediately, and he swallows away the unease that comes with the utter silence of there being no other living thing in this place. It feels wrong even walking over to the torches, every clack of his staff against the ground a loud, echoing sound in the darkness.

Jason’s glad, as he takes one of the two torches from its spot, that he’s really never been afraid of the dark. If he was paranoid about it, gods know how he would deal with this place. Everything is shadow and black, held at bay only through slivers of light from windows, or the torches. As it is, it only makes him a little nervous to have all those corners he can’t see.

There’s no one else here. He’s sure of that. Maybe he still hasn’t seen all the corners (he doesn’t think), but if anyone else was here surely he’d have seen them by now.

Lacking anything better to do, and with no sense of when Slade’s actually going to get back, Jason turns right around and heads back in the direction of the library. If he needs to waste time, this is where he’s going to do it.

The older fires are still burning when he gets there, not quite out yet, so he settles in with the book he was in the middle of — fables, he thinks, though it’s written in an old enough style of the language to be a little difficult to read — and lets everything else drop away.

Jason has exactly no idea how long he's been there, stretched out on one of the bigger seats to have a comfortable position for his leg, when there's the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat. He jumps, almost drops the book as he grabs for his staff and jerks his head around. Slade's standing over him, mouth curled in an amused smirk and arms crossed over his chest. Jason would wonder about how Slade managed to cross the room without him hearing, except that the _Black_ had to nudge him to acknowledge it once or twice, and if he can miss the approach of a dragon, he could have missed Slade pretty easily.

"Hello there," Slade says, as Jason takes in a breath and tries to convince his body that there's no actual threat. "I see you like my collection."

Jason sets the staff down, very carefully marking his place (he found some stray bookmarks at the end of an aisle; mainly metal) before shutting the book and setting it aside. "You're back," is what comes out of his mouth, before he winces. Not exactly his smoothest choice of words, but there's a little flutter in his chest and it's wholly unfamiliar. It's like it's tying up his tongue in useless knots.

Slade chuckles, leaning down before Jason can get around to leveraging himself up or turning around. Fingers slide underneath his jaw and tilt it back, before Slade's mouth is pressing to his. Slow, encouraging his mouth to open with a light press of teeth to his bottom lip and only then sliding a tongue inside. The angle is odd, and Jason had no idea what to do with it, but Slade seems to. It's like an all new experience, and Jason feels himself melting into it, letting his head rest against the back of the seat and a low sound of enjoyment vibrate in his chest.

Finally, Slade pulls back. Only a little, and the fingers under his jaw keep his head tilted back. Jason opens his eyes — reluctantly — just in time to watch Slade say, "Good thing I didn't show you this earlier, or I might never have seen you again," through the crooked curve of a smile.

He flushes. "That's not— You just startled me."

"I'm sure," Slade says, dry but still amused. "But just in case, why don't you pick out a couple interesting books and bring them back to our rooms? If you can manage to pick out just a couple."

Jason glares as Slade straightens up, but doesn't actually argue. Picking just a few out of this whole collection would be… difficult. Slade's not _wrong_ about him being maybe a little obsessed with this library, now that he knows it's here, Jason's just not really happy with it being pointed out. It's not like it's an addiction or anything, he's just been stuck out here with a barely-friendly dragon and this was by far the best way to spend his time.

Which, speaking of…

"Well, if somebody hadn't locked me out of the rooms, maybe I wouldn't have had to find something to keep me busy." He gets up, gathering the book he was reading along with his staff, weight swung to one side until he can brace. He shoots Slade a pointed glance. "You know, away from the _dragon_."

He doesn't even have the decency to look guilty. Not even remotely. Slade does step forward though, leaning in to give him a much briefer kiss — Jason lets him, even though he's tempted to pull away — before offering, "Next time I'll be sure to leave you the option to get yourself killed, if that's really what you want."

"Don't be an ass," he snaps, shoving at Slade's chest. He gets a bit of space, but it feels like being humored. "It would have been nice to be warned, Slade."

"If I'd warned you, I'd have had to drag you out by the scruff of your neck," Slade counters. "I prefer cooperation. Now, are you coming, or not?"

Jason grips the book a little tighter, and turns without a word to go look at what else he'd already picked out from the shelves. He had a small stack; maybe that'll have enough to tide him over. Maybe he only said it to the Black, but he's tempted to repeat it to Slade; they're absolutely both dicks.

Slade's picked up the torch he had propped in the seat-adjacent stand when he turns back around, and is standing there with confident ease, like he expects Jason to just go along with him. Which, honestly, really tempts him to just sit back down and be contrary, just to irritate him, except that now that Slade has the torch, he somewhat suspects that he'll just walk away with it. That definitely sounds like the kind of thing that he'd do.

At least Slade, unlike the Black, stays at a slow enough pace to match his hindered one. Also, Jason doesn't have the little lingering fear that at any point Slade's going to turn around and eat him, so there's that. Maybe he's still irritating, but at least he's not nearly as dangerous. Supposedly. Admittedly, Jason finds it hard to believe that Slade isn't dangerous in some way, with the muscles on him and the sheer size; he just hasn't had the opportunity to see it.

"Leg any better?" Slade asks, the first to break the silence. They're nearly at the main hall.

Jason considers, for a second, giving him the silent treatment. "A little," he admits instead, grudgingly. "Getting shoved around by a dragon didn't help much."

"Mm. He didn't mean any harm." Slade says it like it's a simple fact, not a matter of a human guessing at the agenda of a wild, black dragon. "They're more physical than us when it comes to interaction; I imagine it's the lack of a fully realized language. Your injury probably didn't fully register for him."

"Not meaning any harm doesn't mean he didn't do any," Jason points out, his tone slipping towards hostility. "I'm really not interested in the rationalization."

Slade's gaze turns to him, and Jason has one of those small, jarring moments, staring at the single golden eye. "You seem fine to me."

Jason's teeth set together at the tone of it. He doesn't even fully know why, only that there's something in the words, something in the little edge of disbelief, that makes him want to grind his teeth and yell, all at once. He stops, turns towards Slade and tightens his grip on his small stack of books, just to make sure he doesn't fling them at him. Slade stops too, watching him, waiting for him to make whatever move he's going to. Not that he even fully knows what it is.

He opens his mouth, and the venom in his own tone surprises him. "I don't fucking like being afraid for my life, okay? You can like him or serve him or whatever the fuck you want, but I'm not you. I'm not okay with being one wrong word or bad mood away from getting roasted, so don't you tell me what I am, or what I'm supposed to be alright with. You haven't got that right."

Slade looks at him, unblinking, for longer than Jason is strictly comfortable with. Then, finally, dips his head a fraction. "Understood."

After a moment of waiting for more, Jason starts to realize it might not be coming. "Is that it?"

An eyebrow lifts, and Slade turns away to continue down the hall. Jason belatedly follows. "Did you want me to apologize?" he gets asked, in a tone that suggests that Slade's got exactly no intention of doing that. "I didn't realize it was that difficult for you; he and I have always simply fit."

"Lucky you," Jason grumbles, and does his best to speed up a little to close the small gap. "How does that even work, anyway? Like, I've never seen you two together, at all. Is this normal?"

He doesn't make up the gap, but Slade slows just enough to let it close anyway. "I suppose it is. We exist... around each other. There are shared goals, and wants, but at the end of the day he attends to what I can't, and I to what he can't. It's worked for a long time."

"Oh." Well that answers at least one question. "Yeah, you didn't seem to me like someone who would like getting bossed around."

Out of nowhere, Slade remarks, “I was in my country’s military, when I was younger.” It takes Jason a second to relate that to what they were talking about.

He opens his mouth to voice his surprise, but ends up closing it as he actually looks at Slade. Straight back, head high, an easy precision to his stride… Jason’s not a soldier — dragon riders don’t get held to that sort of rigidness; it’s a whole different skill set — but he’s been around a lot of them. He wasn’t looking for it before, but yeah, he can see the hints. Old, faded with time, probably, but there. That’s… strange to think about.

“You were a soldier?”

Slade nods, glancing his direction. “A very long time ago.”

“How long?”

That gets him a wry look. “When I still had two eyes and blond hair. How long have you been a rider?”

The abrupt reversal knocks him off balance for a second. “Oh, uh… Eight years, I think? Nine? Had the feel for it. Passed some tests when I was a kid, then just kept passing them. All the way through.” He eyes the side of Slade’s face, trying to fit together the little pieces of history into a story he understands. “So, what? You were a soldier, got taken by a black dragon, and you just stayed?”

Slade’s answer is a frustratingly short, “More or less.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but gives up prying anything more out of him at the moment. “Alright, fine. Be vague.” They enter the main hall, and Jason's gaze drifts towards the door. “So, the Black. How long is he going to be gone this time?”

Slade takes a glance towards the door as well. “Hard to say. He travels often, and usually doesn't know himself when he'll feel the desire to come home again. It could be a few days, or weeks.”

His side-eye goes unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon. “That’s helpful.” Slade doesn't answer, so after a few seconds of silence he continues, "You're really alright with that? That he just leaves and you have no idea when he's coming back?"

"I'm very independent."

"That's not—” Jason makes a sound of frustration as he cuts off, feeling a sharp urge to whack Slade's shin with his staff. " _Slade_."

Slade stops at the complaining whine of his name, turning with the eyebrow over his missing eye arched up. " _Jason_ , he'll be back when he's back. Asking more times won't change that." He steps closer, reaching out with the hand not occupied with the torch to slide fingers under Jason's chin. His voice lowers. "Why don't you stop worrying, and come join me in a bath instead?"

"I can't just stop worrying because it's not productive," he starts to complain, and then his brain catches up with the rest of those words. It also supplies him with a very vivid memory of Slade, water trickling down his chest, pool of water not _really_ hiding what's underneath it. A memory that he now has a very different view on. "I… A bath?"

A thumb slips over his cheek as Slade grins, and Jason just _knows_ he must be blushing. "I'll keep my hands to myself. If you want me to."

Now he can definitely feel the heat in his cheeks. He swallows, and tries his best to push that naked picture out of his head, to actually focus. "I'm still irritated at you," he points out, not wanting to forget it or let Slade abruptly just change the subject and move the conversation somewhere else.

Slade leans down, lips pressing to his cheek, right along the path of that thumb. "Noted." It's a teasing drawl, not taking him seriously at all.

Jason huffs in exasperation, shaking his head a little as Slade steps back and opens the distance between them again. "You're really like him, you know that? Both of you do something to piss me off, and then you try and distract me with something you know I want. Manipulative dicks, both of you."

Slade hums noncommittally and turns away, not commenting except to toss, "Coming?" over his shoulder.

His teeth grit. He doesn’t want to prove Slade right, but still the only answer he has is a grudging, "Yes. _Dick_."

**Author's Note:**

> This story now has art! Check out [Jason facing down the Black by Kiwiliko!](http://kiwiliko.tumblr.com/post/169118578130/jason-vs-slade-for-the-fic-fireblind-by-skalidra)
> 
> And another piece! Check out [Jason and his brothers on patrol by fleet-of-red!](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/fleet-of-red/173722244499)


End file.
